


An Uptown Education

by triedunture



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Academia, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anger Management, Awkward Romance, Bets & Wagers, Bisexual Character, Confessions, Couch Cuddles, Cruising, Dirty Talk, First Dates, First Kiss, Hair Kink, Hand & Finger Kink, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Medical Trauma, Moving In Together, Panic Attacks, Phone Sex, Picnics, Poverty, Power Dynamics, Sharing Clothes, Sickfic, Spooning, Vomiting, Wall Sex, sweatpants dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6441337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George Washington starts attending adult ed classes in order to get his GED (or HSE or whatever it's called these days). His instructor, Alexander Hamilton, is as distracting as he is brilliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU was pretty much completely created on Twitter by the minds of [Ji](http://crying-of-lot-37.tumblr.com/), [Poose](http://pitcherplant.tumblr.com/), and [Iniquitcity](http://iniquiticity.tumblr.com/) when Poose tweeted [this fucking picture](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/141613266567/tell-me-this-isnt-adult-ed-washington-trying-to) and started us all down the road to sweatpants dick hell. They are to blame for whatever happens here.

Washington stood in front of Room 208, the last door on the left on the community center's second floor. The hallway smelled vaguely of Lysol and Cheetos. Even that revolting combination was enough to remind his stomach that he hasn't actually eaten dinner yet, and since this class would be about two and a half hours long he might not eat until (he consulted his watch) 9:30. Better bring a sandwich next time, he told himself. 

Can't bring a sandwich to work, his brain retorted, and there isn't enough time to go home between there and here.

Okay, so a banana, he decided. A sad, bruised banana. That would be about 79 cents each, which, if it was enough to tide him over before a late night snack of peanut butter straight from the jar, might save him some cash in the long run. 

This internal struggle was, of course, just delaying the inevitable. He didn't want to open this classroom door. He didn't want to sit at a too-cramped desk and attempt to scratch out notes on his sheaf of purloined printer paper. He didn't want any of this. If it were up to Washington, he'd be in bed, sleeping off the effects of an eight hour shift at the bakery. 

That damn bakery job. It wasn't a 'coffee shop, slapping muffins in the oven' kind of gig. It was hard labor in an industrial, gluten-free kitchen, no windows, about a dozen fire code violations, and ten bucks an hour for the privilege. Washington came off every shift with an aching back, sore feet, and throbbing hands where the skin had cracked and reddened from the heat of the ovens and the hot water of the dish station. After eight hours of that, how was he supposed to even keep his eyes open, let alone learn anything?

I could turn around right now, he thought. Go home. No one would ever know. 

That's because, he reminded himself, there's no one left who would care. 

"So, uh, it only works if you go inside," a voice behind him said. Washington turned around to find a short, rumpled guy, long hair in a messy ponytail, jeans, wrinkled white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, battered brown leather messenger bag, black eyes. Young, maybe five or ten years younger than Washington—he was terrible at guessing ages. But young enough to be the kind of person Washington would expect to find in a GED night class. A wash-out. Just like him. 

"Don't let me stop you from trying," he said, and neatly stepped aside so he was no longer blocking the classroom door. 

The kid gave him an appraising smirk and reached for the doorknob. "Still thinking it over?" 

"Something like that." Washington looked away toward the half-empty vending machine with its sad selections of Sun Chips and Wrigley's gum. "Just don't feel like wasting my time, I suppose."

"Hey."

Washington looked back to the kid, at his bright, black eyes. 

"Don't hang out here in the hall all night. Take your time but, you know." He made a comical gesture, like he was about to frog march into the room. "Like a band aid." 

"Sure. Like a band aid," Washington repeated, and the kid ducked into the classroom with a sheepish smile. 

I could go home, Washington thought. Or I could go in that room and maybe see that smile again.

He paced over to the vending machine, thought better of it, and turned to enter the class.

The uneven rows of close desks held only four other souls in various states of exhaustion. Washington scanned the seats for the kid but he was nowhere to be found. A throat cleared up at the front of the room, and he looked up to find the guy standing there in front of the whiteboard with a green marker in his hand.

"Anywhere you like," he said, and Washington sat down heavily in the nearest chair at the back of the room. 

Great. It just keeps getting better, he thought. 

"My name is Alexander Hamilton," said the kid, writing the name on the board in big, looping letters. "You can call me Mr. Hamilton if you want, but we're all grown-ups here. Alex is fine. This is HES-TASC test prep, otherwise known as high school equivalency boot camp."

Washington let his knees fall open as he tried to find a comfortable position in the hard plastic chair. The little faux-wood desk arm prevented that, though, so he ended up in a sort of slump with his hands stuck in his sweatpants pockets. He fought the urge to lift his hoodie up to cover his bare head. It was cold in the room, but he was the only one dressed down and he didn't want to draw more attention to that fact. He hadn't even considered wearing his nicer clothes to class; he'd only had time to change into the extra set of clean, dry clothes he kept in his work locker. Everyone else in the room was in jeans or slacks. One woman near the front was wearing a Church's Chicken uniform and writing in a spiral notebook.

Damn, he needed a notebook. He reached into his hoodie's pocket and retrieved the few folded pieces of printer paper he'd taken from the bakery office. There was a pen in there too, right? Jesus, had it fallen out? Yeah, he'd lost it. Perfect.

And this goddamn twentysomething— _Alex_ —was still chattering away at the front of the classroom. 

"I see a couple new faces here tonight, which is great because it gives us a good excuse to do a little practice test. This will give you an idea of where you need to improve if you've been with me for awhile, and if you're new, it'll help us determine where you're at. So. Don't stress, it's just practice." He rooted around in his beat-up leather bag, which slouched precariously on the table that served as a teacher's desk. 

Washington considered leaving while the teacher—while Alex was distracted. He could just plug in his earbuds and slip out the door, never to be seen in the Upper Manhattan Community Improvement Center again. But he needed this class. He needed to pass this test. He'd already tried and failed twice, and a third strike would mean he couldn't try again for another year. 

Alex started passing out stapled booklets to the students at the front before making his way back to Washington. He slid a booklet on his desk and murmured, "I don't think I got your name, Mister…?"

"Washington." He placed a hand on the cover of the booklet, looked down at it. "Could I borrow a pen?"

"Sure. Just give it back before you leave tonight, okay?" Alex fished a pen, the kind with the sloshy ink inside, from his breast pocket and held it out. "It's a good one. I'm always losing them."

Washington reached for it, his roughened fingers catching at Alex's small, warm hand with its neat, square fingernails. He felt a surge of want in his chest and took the pen quickly. His thanks were mumbled out toward his desk while he internally berated himself. Was he that starved for a friendly touch? Pathetic. 

Alex turned away and headed back to the front of the class. "All right, everyone, go ahead. Twenty minutes starts now." 

Washington flipped open the book and read the first question: _Which of the following sentences contains a misspelled word?_

Fuck everything. 

Washington's eyes danced over the four choices, looking for words that seemed out of place. He had always been a terrible speller. Souvenir, that could be it. Honestly, he couldn't say with any confidence he'd ever had to spell souvenir. And what the hell was a question like that doing on a test anyway? We've had spell-check for decades, he thought with rising anger. What was this supposed to prove? 

He circled B, the souvenir sentence, and moved on. The test did not get any easier after that, though.

"Time's up," Alex called before Washington could even tackle the last two pages of his test. "Pass 'em to the front. We'll go through the right answers super quick." 

Washington had to lean forward with all his weight balanced on his flimsy desk arm to hand his booklet to the nearest man in front of him, and the shuffle of paper and pens clicking resounded through the small, dreary room. 

Alex flicked open a file folder and started reading aloud. "Okay, number one: you had to pick out the sentence with the misspelled word. That was D. The word acquired was missing a C. Number two…."

Washington slumped back in his creaking chair, eyes on the scratched desk in front of him. He was so tired. And this was such bullshit. 

He stuck his hands back in the deep pocket of his hoodie and let the teacher's voice wash over him. In that way, he survived his first class, and when Alex said, "That's it for tonight. See you back here on Wednesday," he was the first to rise from his chair. 

He'd nearly made it to the door when Alex called, "Excuse me, Mr. Washington? A word, please?"

Was there anything more humiliating than standing there frozen to await a scolding while everyone else filed out of the room? Washington steeled his jaw. He was a grown-ass man. He'd managed to live through worse than this. 

He approached Alex's wobbly table-desk and stood patiently while his instructor pushed some papers into his bag. "George, right?" Alex waved a sheet with the students' sign-up information in Washington's direction. "Or are you not a first name basis kind of guy?"

"Washington's fine," he said. It was what Braddock called him, and Braddock was the closest thing he had to...a person, even if he was just Washington's sometimes-roommate, an old friend of his father's, letting him rent his spare bedroom for six hundred a month and don't worry about the utilities. The man was out of town more often than he was in it, so it wasn't a bad deal, but even so. He hated taking the charity. "Just Washington."

"Suit yourself. Listen, I'm looking at this practice test you turned in tonight and," Alex sighed, the booklet in question in his hands, "I've got to say, I think you're really behind the rest of the class."

Was shame as hot as fire or ice cold as winter? Both seemed to flood Washington's veins simultaneously, leaving him with no choice but to take a deep breath and say, "I see."

Alex looked up at him, swiping his messy hair away from his face. "It's not all bad news. You kicked ass on the math and social studies questions. Science was pretty decent, what you managed to answer, anyway. I can tell you're smart; you just have to learn how to play to the test. And get used to the reading and writing portions. Those are tripping you up."

"Noted," Washington ground out. He looked forward to a few minutes from now, when he would no longer be standing here, listening to Alex talk to him this way. So familiarly.

He watched as Alex crossed his arms—with their damned rolled sleeves—over his chest and leaned his hip against the table. "It's not impossible to catch up, but it will take some hard work. If you want, I can give you some extra help outside of class."

"I can't afford to pay for tutoring," Washington said before he could think about the consequences of telling this man how impoverished he had become. Why couldn't he just _lie_ like a normal person?

"I'm not— No charge, okay?" Alex said, blinking rapidly. "The city would pick up the tab, I swear."

"I'd...have to find the time," Washington said slowly. "I work two jobs." Bakery on weekdays, stocking the shelves at the corner drug store on Friday and Saturday nights. Just barely enough to make rent, cover health insurance, eat, and pay his cell phone bill. Not a whole lot of leeway.

"Same here. Substitute teacher by day, adult ed instructor by night." Alex's eyes flicked back down to the floor, and he turned to busy himself with his bag once again. "Just think about it. We could work around your schedule, whatever you're comfortable with." The tips of his ears flushed a slight pink, which Washington found very charming.

It occurred to Washington that perhaps this was a line. This Alex might actually be picking him up. He was so unpracticed at flirting—or whatever you might call it—and for a moment, he wondered if he should just leave so he wouldn't have to make the attempt. Instead he glanced at Alex's ears one last time and said, "Thank you. I'll let you know."

He turned to go, but Alex stopped him once more. "Hey, Washington?"

"Yes?" He looked over his shoulder.

Alex held out his hand. For a second, Washington wondered if he was supposed to take it in his.

"My pen?" Alex finally prompted.

"Oh." He dug around in the pocket of his hoodie before finding the thing. "Of course. Sorry."

"Can't let you run away with this one." Alex smiled as he took his pen back. "I lose too many. See you Wednesday, Washington."

"Wednesday," he agreed, and finally retreated from the classroom.

___________________

It only took one more class for Washington's pride to crack under the strain. He really was behind the other students; most of what Alex wrote on the whiteboard or talked about was completely alien to him. Or worse, he had only the vaguest recollection of learning about the topic in his short-lived high school career. He'd probably been thirteen the last time he'd had to calculate the volume of a sphere. Who remembered stuff like that?

Alex, apparently. 

As the rest of the class shuffled out of the room at the conclusion of the evening's lesson, Washington lingered, watching Alex organize his messy stack of papers. 

"I've thought about what you said the other night." He tucked his hands in his hoodie. "I can make time Saturday if the offer still stands." 

Alex's eyes flashed up to his face, alight with happiness. "Sure it stands. I'm…uh, still standing. Here, what's your cell number?" He whipped out an iPhone and began tapping away. 

Washington recited his number, only faintly embarrassed at his old Virginia area code. A few more taps of Alex's phone, and then his ratty old flip phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweats. 

"All right, I texted you my address," Alex said with a wide grin. "How's noon? I'll order seamless. You eat meat?" 

"I eat meat," Washington found himself saying in a daze. 

"Great. See you then." Alex picked up his scuffed bag and headed out. It took Washington a long moment of standing there like a statue to realize he had to leave as well. He ducked into the hall and took the far staircase so there wouldn't be any awkward extra goodbyes.

He had a date. This was a date, right? He was going over to Alex's place and sharing a meal, which was the definition of a date. Maybe some studying would happen, sure. But the way Alexander looked at him…. He wasn't imagining that.

He tapped on the text he'd just received and saved the number as Alexander Hamilton.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo y'all, this chapter contains mentions of our heroes' tragic backstories, so there is talk of familial death and suicide.

Because his body was stuck on his weekday schedule, Washington was awake early on Saturday with hours to spare. He went through the usual routine: push-ups, crunches, a few stretches. Hot shower that ended with a blast of cold water (supposedly good for the immune system). A banana, two slices of toast with peanut butter. Clean clothes, not sweats this time. Jeans, the nice ones without holes in the back pocket where his wallet had tried to rub free. A brown sweater, slightly fitted. Washington looked in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Exchanged the brown sweater for a black polo shirt. 

At the very least, he was wearing his good boxer briefs. Elastic still alive and kicking, no wear, no tear. It was the best he could do with what he had. 

He gave himself an hour to walk to Alex's address; the bus would have taken 20 minutes at most, but he didn't want to burn $2.75 off his metro card for the convenience. Not when Alex only lived two miles away, still upper Manhattan, still walkable. Plus, the weather wasn't that bad, he reasoned. Just a little overcast. Maybe kind of windy. 

Okay, so it was a miserable walk.

Alex lived on a nice street one block east of Broadway, way up in the 200s, a few trees planted along the sidewalk with their branches bearing the last of the autumn leaves. It was close to the park, which Washington kept meaning to visit for a weekend run, and the river, which he kept meaning to walk along. The building was in pretty good shape, a classy kind of facade with Chrysler Building-type lines all up and down. Washington examined the buzzer plate in the foyer and found the sticker that said HAMILTON in Alex's loopy handwriting, right next to the button for 5F.

He girded himself for the climb up the stairs to the fifth floor and pressed it. 

Amazingly, there was an elevator waiting for him in the lobby once he was buzzed inside. It was the old-fashioned type with a swinging door, but it bore him up to Alex's floor without much complaint. Washington marveled at how wonderful it could be, such a small luxury as an elevator. He missed things like that.

Alex's door had the same scratched brown paint as all the rest, but Washington stood and stared at it like it was a portal to some other world. This would be his first date since— Well, since Martha, he supposed, although he wasn't sure his late night walks with her after support group sessions counted. And anyway, she'd moved away from Virginia before Lawrence's second relapse, a fresh start after she was widowed. Washington had thought about tracking her down on Facebook a dozen times since then, but what would he say if he did? 'My brother finally died and I was wondering if you're still single and by the way how are the kids' probably wouldn't cut it. She'd run screaming and she'd be right to do so.

"Focus," he mumbled to himself. 

It was going to be a good afternoon with Alex. Just the two of them, getting to know each other. He lifted his fist and knocked. 

A man who was not Alex answered the door. His face, as unfamiliar as it was to Washington, lit up at the sight of him. "Ah, our student, he arrives!" he cried in a heavily accented drawl.

"I—" But Washington couldn't get out another word before he was dragged inside.

He didn't have much time to take in the apartment—spacious by New York standards, a little messy with piles of unopened mail and books on various surfaces, nice island blue paint on the walls. Two more strange men held his attention, reaching out to shake his hand. 

"John Laurens," the slightest one introduced himself. "I'm going to help you with reading. Mulligan here, he's got you on math and Lafayette is taking social studies."

Washington heard a toilet flush and looked up just in time to see Alex coming out of what must be the bathroom, a wide smile on his face. He was wearing his hair down, and Washington felt his pulse stutter at the sight.

"Oh good," Alex said, "you've met the team."

"Team?" Washington tried not to inject so much disbelief into his voice, but it wasn't easy. 

"Yeah. To help you study." Alex gestured to the group. "They wanted to pitch in."

Washington suppressed a sigh. He'd worn his good underwear for this, damn it. 

"I suppose five heads are better than one," he managed to say, and the others slapped him on the back and led him to the kitchen table, where books and legal pads had been stacked in preparation.

Mulligan took the first shift, cracking open the mathematics study guide. "Alex tells me you're pretty set on things like percentages, algebra, most of the important stuff. Yeah?"

Washington nodded. Managing the bills and dealing with insurance companies had forced him to become adept at that. Mulligan led Washington through the lessons with surprising patience, if not a few curses. "Motherfucking circles, my guy, we got to talk circles. Okay, see, you're thinking diameter here, but you need the radius, okay?" The others worked alongside them at the table on their own projects in easy silence; Washington saw that Alex was grading papers, Lafayette was working on some sort of ESOL app, and Laurens was reading a thick book with a German title on the cover. 

After math came social studies and Lafayette's undying enthusiasm for logic problems. "My friend, they try to trick you here. The UN is not military, we know this, so not the A. That answer, gone. Eliminate them until you have the truth, yes?" His eyes sparkled with every correct answer Washington gave him.

Lunch arrived, delivered in several paper sacks, and Alex refused any offers of money from Washington to cover his portion. Instead he urged Washington to try the mofongo, which he did though he had no idea what it was. He ate two heaping portions of it and some spicy pork while digging through some reading lessons with Laurens. "Sometimes there's more than one answer that's technically right. We need the _most_ right."

Washington tried to concentrate as best he could, but his attention was sometimes caught by Alex's facial expressions as he studied a particularly vexing response from a student. And there was also Alex's apartment to take in; Washington tried to glean as much as he could from where he sat. There were a few framed photos on the wall, old and yellowed portraits of a woman with long dark hair and Alex's nose, a man with Alex's jaw. Family, Washington supposed. That must be nice.

Hours passed in the camaraderie of their kitchen table, the friends sharing pens or highlighters or the bottle of hot sauce to dress the remaining food. Washington gathered from their banter that they'd known each other in college, Columbia to be exact, and he felt very out of place with no similar experiences to share. And he was probably the oldest in the room by about ten years.

Finally it was Alex's turn to tutor him on the writing portion, and they scooted closer together to share the textbook between them. Washington glanced over at the profile Alex presented, staring down intently at their work while brushing his long hair behind his ear. Damn his hands. They were nice, well-formed. Soft, if he remembered correctly. Washington looked back down at whatever they were supposed to be reading.

"Okay, so the thing about the writing part of the test is," Alex said, "you don't actually have to be a good writer. That's not what you're being tested on. You're pretty much just ticking the boxes that some loser test-maker up in Vermont or whatever thought should be the standard. You get me?"

"I think so." Washington's chair creaked uncomfortably as he shifted in his seat. 

"Just think of it this way: they're hoping you screw up." Alex tapped his fingernail in the middle of the textbook's page. "Don't let them win. You have to fight back. And do it knowing that the fight is rigged." 

Washington nodded. "Show me."

Alex led him through a practice exercise, showing him the basic structure he should use when crafting his essays. "One, three, one," he kept repeating. "Now go ahead. Give me one?"

"One," Washington sighed, writing out his introduction paragraph. It was a sad, stilted thing built on the thesis statement that birdwatching was a hobby with a long and proud history. Honestly, who _wrote_ these prompts? Had they met a person before? 

"Ivy league assholes," Hamilton answered. "And no, they have not." It was only then that Washington realized he'd been muttering aloud. 

"Isn't Columbia an Ivy?" he asked. 

"Hey, I was a scholarship kid. Don't give me up to the proletariat when the revolution starts, okay?" Alex shot him a smirk that Washington dared return, close-lipped so the gap in his teeth wouldn't show. He noticed Laurens glancing at them curiously and he dropped his gaze back to his book. 

"Now three, correct?" He began writing his first supporting paragraph, very aware of how Alex was leaning close to read his chicken scratch. His breath was still scented with their lunch—the Dominican food and Pepsi—and his bare forearm was warm where it pressed against Washington's. 

"That's good," Alex said when they finished the exercise at last. "Do you want to try a sample question?"

Washington couldn't help his face from falling. "I thought we just did."

"No, that was an exercise, there's more— Look, here." Alex reached over and flipped the pages of the book. "Let's take a crack at the persuasive essay."

Washington rubbed a hand over his head, tickling his shorn hair. His brain felt too full. Like everything could spill out of his ears at any moment. But Alex looked so earnest, though. So hopeful.

"Sure," he said. 

"You know what I find helpful?" Alex said. 

_Please say literal hand-holding_ , Washington thought.

"Reading things aloud," he finished. He grabbed a pencil from Lafayette's pile of supplies and tapped the paragraph under Washington's nose. "Go ahead. Give it a shot. Hearing the words sometimes makes a huge difference."

Washington stared down at the sample (which, really, how was that different from an exercise?) and cleared his throat. He disliked reading aloud for an audience, especially one comprised of people he'd mostly just met. It wasn't that he had a bad voice, but sometimes his Virginian accent snuck in when he was stressed. So he focused on the words and made his tone as neutral as possible. 

"'There are many arguments for and against high school students securing after-school employment,'" he began, and Alex nodded along. The prompt meandered through the boring points of both sides, which the test taker would have to absorb before choosing a position from which to write their persuasive essay. Washington thought nothing of it, merely recited the words until he came upon a certain sentence. "'...Therefore the premature adoption of adult roles and responsibilities can create stress in a student’s life, leading to poorer educational outcomes and impaired psychological development.'" His tongue became thick in his mouth, and his eyes blinked rapidly. There was more, and he tried to read it aloud. "'If a child—' Sorry. 'If a child is not given the proper basis for success—'" 

He felt the eyes of Alex's friends on him, a heavy, burning weight. He didn't dare look up from his book. He couldn't survive it, the looks of pity and confusion, not from them, certainly not from Alex.

Washington closed the book with a soft thump. "I can't do this right now," he said. The defeat in his voice shamed him.

The heat of Alex's forearm left him as he pushed away. Washington closed his eyes. There was a long beat of silence, then Alex said, "Hey, Laurens, Mulligan? Lafayette? You can take off. I need to talk to Washington for a sec." 

Face burning, Washington watched Alex's friends as they gathered their things and headed for the door. Laurens, Washington noticed, paused to drop a kiss on Alex's cheek as he passed by, and that added a whole new wave of sick churning to his stomach. "We're rooting for you," Mulligan called as they left. Washington wasn't sure how to take that; they didn't even know him. Why would they care? 

"That," Alex said when the door shut, "is a shitty prompt for an HSE test." 

Washington snorted. "No, please, allow me, a high school dropout, to explain why high school students should or should not be employed. Jesus, that's—" He rubbed at his tired, heavy eyes. "I would have killed for an after-school job to be the biggest issue in my life at that point."

"Want to talk about it?" Alex asked.

Washington shook his head. "In your line of work, I'm sure you've heard every sort of sob story. You don't need to hear mine. It's nothing special."

Alex licked his lips, tucked his loose hair behind his ear again. "Fuck what that test says. You're not a lost cause. It doesn't matter what happened to you before; you're here now."

Oh, hooray, Washington wanted to say. I'm here at your kitchen table, the charity case for your little friends, for your _boyfriend_ , struggling with high school essays until I walk home to my shithole apartment and get ready for my second job. Great work, Washington. Really nailed being an adult.

"I'm just very tired," he said instead, and perhaps his voice gave away exactly what he meant when he said it, because Alex reached over and rested his hand on Washington's arm.

"You've been working really hard," Alex said, so carefully, so tenderly, that it made him crack. 

"My brother," he started, then stopped. "No, sorry. My father first. When he died, my mother couldn't take it. Packed up and left, just my older brother Lawrence to watch over me. And we did fine, the two of us. For awhile. But then Lawrence got sick. And I had to take care of him because there was no one else. So I left school." Washington shook his head. "We had grown up well-off. Not insanely rich but comfortable. I took horse riding lessons as a boy; my parents had a maid. But after all the tests and treatments and more tests, years of them, we had nothing left. I hid it from Lawrence at the end. I couldn't let him know—" He lifted his hand to his mouth to stifle what might have been a whimper. Christ, he hadn't thought about his brother, really thought about him, his voice and the way he stood, the way he'd called him Georgie, in months. 

Alex didn't say anything, just squeezed his arm slightly. 

"I'm sorry," Washington said. "None of this matters. I just need to pass this test." 

"Hey." Alex squeezed his arm again. "I know it's not a contest but...want to hear my sob story?" 

Washington regarded him closely. It would be rude not to take this olive branch, he decided. "All right."

Alex coughed into his fist and said, "Short version: dad left before I was born, mom died when I was a kid—" Now Washington was the one clutching at Alex's forearm. "—didn't have any family left in Nevis; that's the little island to the right of Puerto Rico where I'm from. So my mom's cousin took me in, here in New York. This was his place." Alex gave a rueful smile, tipped his chin toward the bathroom door. "I found him in there a few months later. He'd cut his wrists in the tub."

"How old—?" Washington asked.

"I was fifteen." 

Dear god. Washington stayed silent, the only respectful way to react, he thought, and wrapped his fingers more firmly around Alex's thin wrist.

Alex gave a dry chuckle. "I know it's horrible to say, but all that? It actually opened a lot of doors for me. I figured out my financial situation, got emancipated, and inherited the mortgage on this place. I won that scholarship to Columbia for writing an essay about it." He shrugged. "Everything sucked, but it turned out okay."

Washington thought about that. "So how did a Columbia graduate end up teaching night school for dropouts?" he asked.

A wave of a hand that finally parted them where Washington had been holding on. "That's a long story. Come on, we should—" 

Washington's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen. It was the alarm he'd set, telling him to head back so he'd be at work on time.

"I should go," he said.

"Oh." Alex blinked at the clock on the wall. "Yeah, it's later than I thought. Can I—? Do you want a ride home?"

"You have a car?"

"It's more of a junkheap, but it gets me to the Bronx when I sub up there. Here, let me find my keys." And Alex was up out of his chair, already poking around in a little dish on the side table by the front door. Washington found he couldn't refuse the offer even if he'd wanted to. 

They walked down the block to where Alex's early '90s Toyota was parked by the curb, its white paint pocked with rust stains. The wind had picked up, and it looked like rain. Washington slid into the passenger seat loaded down with the workbooks that Alex had given him. The car's interior was just as dingy as the outside, and Washington had to shift his feet atop the mound of empty 5-Hour Energy bottles that littered the floor. 

"Sorry about the mess," Alex said before turning the key and swinging the car into traffic. 

Washington hastily applied his seatbelt. 

Alex was a chaotic driver, prone to bursts of speed and harsh braking. His earlier patience as a teacher seemed to desert him, and if Washington had to guess, he'd say Alex might have some anger issues. "Are you serious, fuckwits?" he shouted at a trundling panel van that cut them off on Broadway. "I! Will! Murder! You!" Punctuated, of course, by blasts of his car horn. 

Clutching his borrowed books in his lap to keep them from sliding away, Washington groped for a suitable topic. "It was very kind of your friends to take the time to help me today. Please thank them for me; I was rude to forget." 

"Okay, so where are you from? Georgia? Tennessee?" Alex took his eyes off the road to squint over at Washington, and Washington really wished he wouldn't. 

"Why do you say that? Red light." He pointed, and Alex braked to a hard stop.

"Thanks. Because you've got to be from the south. You've got these _manners_. John's the same way. He's from Charleston." 

"Ah. You and Laurens are—?" Washington looked out the passenger window. "Very close?"

"We dated back in college. Big bisexual awakening. Why are you dodging the question?" Alex gasped. "Are you from Florida? Don't be ashamed, man, no judgement."

"No, I grew up outside of Richmond." 

"Ha! So I was right! You're a southern gentleman."

"I was. A long time ago." Washington smiled at Alex's reflection in his window. How would it feel, he wondered, to state so plainly what he was without batting an eyelash? Alex was a remarkable person. Despite his poor driving. 

The car jerked to a stop in front of Washington's building, a six-story walkup on a busy side street. Alex flipped on his hazard lights and looked over at Washington with a lopsided grin. "Hey, I know today kind of ended on a downer but...you did good work. You're going to be fine if you keep it up, trust me."

"Thanks," Washington said. "That means a lot."

They looked at each other from opposite sides of the gear shift. Just one of those short, comfortable silences. And then, without knowing exactly who leaned over first—whether he moved and Alex followed or if he was just following Alex's lead—they met in the middle and shared a soft kiss. Like a goodnight kiss, except it was five in the afternoon.

"Oh," Alex said as they parted. He bit his lower lip in a wince. "I shouldn't have done that."

Washington blinked twice. "Why?"

Behind them, a car honked its horn. They were blocking its way. 

"One second!" Alex leaned on his own horn, glaring at his rearview, then turned back to Washington. "It's fucking unprofessional, that's why. And after what happened today you're all—" He waggled a hand toward Washington. "Vulnerable? It's just a bad idea."

The barricaded car honked at them again, and Washington unbuckled his seatbelt. "I should let you go," he said. 

"Hey!" 

His hand paused on the door handle. He turned and looked at Alex with his messy hair and wide eyes.

"I'll see you in class Monday?"

Resolve flooded through Washington's veins. He was not going to take this lying down. He reached forward—slowly so that Alex could pull away if he really wanted to—and cupped the back of Alex's head in his palm. When they kissed for a second time, it was clear who had started it, and that pleased Washington as much as the feel of Alex's lips parting beneath his own.

Two sets of car horns were now blaring behind them.

"I'll be there," he said, and left with his stack of textbooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of perhaps many UST study sessions? We shall see! 
> 
> Thank you for your comments, your words of encouragement, your anonymous requests for my thoughts on sweatpants dick...all of it. I'm on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

Monday at the bakery passed by at the slowest crawl Washington had ever experienced. Wristwatches were banned and there was no clock on the wall, so every time he looked at his phone's screen expecting to see that it was almost 6 PM, he was sorely disappointed. Except, of course, for the last time he checked. 

He changed into clean sweats and walked south toward the community center, eating his mushy banana as he went. He would've arrived at class with a few minutes to spare, but a woman stopped him outside the 181st Street subway and asked him to help carry her baby's stroller down the stairs. It was slow going especially with the rush hour crowds streaming around them, and Washington was worried that he might drop his end of the heavy stroller, so he took each step with glacier-like care. The baby in the carrier didn't even wake up from its nap. When their little party reached the bottom of the steps, Washington didn't wait for the woman's thanks before bounding back up to street level.

The halls of the Upper Manhattan Community Improvement Center smelled of burnt popcorn that evening, which was actually an improvement. Washington took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, hoping he might get to speak with Alex before class. Nerves made his stomach flip at the thought of seeing him again, but he was too eager at the prospect of more kisses, of more Alex, to dwell on them.

Alex was already writing at the whiteboard when Washington came into the classroom, so he took his usual seat at the back with only a little deflation. "Today we're doing science," Alex said as he wrote. "A little cell structure, a few Punnett squares. This is the fun stuff, I promise, no—" He turned and caught sight of Washington, his marker frozen in mid-air.

Washington attempted a small, close-lipped smile.

With a shake of his head, Alex returned to the board. "No stress, just the building blocks of life. Let's start with some practice worksheets."

Instead of handing the stack of worksheets to one person and letting them pass the papers around, Alex delivered each page to the six occupied desks in the room himself. Washington was his last stop, and when he placed the worksheet on his desk he bent to whisper, "Just so you know, whatever happened last weekend is not going to happen again."

Washington swallowed. Stared down at the diagram of a cell on the paper in front of him. This was not the result he'd hoped for, but when did he ever get one of those? "Fair enough," he said just as low. "I'll find another tutor." 

"No, I mean— Of course I'll still help you study," Alex said, "but not at my place. You need to, you know. Concentrate on your work." 

_You kissed me back, you hypocrite_ , Washington wanted to shout. Instead he murmured, "Fine. Somewhere public." 

"Yes, exactly." He could feel the relief in the way Alex sagged beside his desk. "The park by me? Same time this Saturday?"

Washington nodded, then searched with one hand in the pocket of his hoodie, feeling for his pen. Oh, for the love of god, he seethed, did it really fall out again? Probably on those damn subway stairs….

"Here, I got you." Alex placed another of his good pens on the desk beside the worksheet. "Don't forget to give it back."

He could have sunk through the floor right then, watching Alex walk back to the front of the room. There was nothing lower than him at that moment. Washington rubbed at his heavy, stinging eyes and prayed for this class to be over soon.

While he tried to focus on the science questions in front of him, Washington listened with half an ear as Alex made his rounds among the students with a word of encouragement here or a helping hint there. At one point he stopped by the desk of a young guy, barely out of his teens if Washington were to guess, and asked, "You feeling okay, Tench?" 

Washington glanced up and saw the kid holding his head in his hands. "Yeah," he said to Alex, "just a headache. Came out of nowhere." 

"I have Advil in my bag if you—" 

And then the kid suddenly went still and rigid in his chair before falling out of it and onto the floor. Alex leapt back at least a foot, shouting, "Christ! Tench!" 

Washington was on his feet before he could register what was happening. The other students were standing too, crowding close, and Washington guided them away with firm hands. "Give him room," he heard himself say. 

The kid was seizing on the chipped green linoleum, his eyes rolled to whites and his limbs jerking forcefully. 

"Do we put his wallet in his mouth?" the woman in the Church's Chicken uniform asked.

Washington held her by the elbow. "No. You move the desks out of the way." He pointed to an older woman on the other side of the room. "You! Check his backpack, see if he has any medication. Alex?" He looked up to find Alex's wide eyes blinking at him. "Call 911. Everyone else, clear a path to the door." 

He knelt by Tench as everyone else in the room rushed to follow orders. There was no medical alert bracelet that Washington could see, so he did the only other thing he could think to do and rolled the kid on his side, leaning close to listen to his rapid, forced breathing. He grabbed a sweater off the back of someone's chair and balled it up, slipping it under Tench's head for a pillow.

"Medications!" he snapped. "Did you find any?"

"No, there's nothing in here!" the woman wailed, and Washington bit back a curse.

"That's okay, it'll pass soon. He's going to be fine." He said this as if it were the absolute truth, as if he had a direct line to god and knew exactly what was happening when actually his heart was pounding its way through his chest at the memory of Lawrence's own seizures. 

Alex paced a few feet away, speaking quietly into his phone, a hand digging through his hair. Then, covering the mouthpiece, he said, "EMT's are coming, they said five minutes." 

Washington held Tench's shoulder in a loose grip to keep him from rocking onto his back, and under his palm he felt the tremors subside. "Good. We're good," Washington said, more to the room than to Tench, who was still out of it.

Six minutes later, Tench was being loaded into the ambulance on a stretcher while the rest of the class stood and watched from the sidewalk. Washington spoke to one EMT in a level tone: complained of head pain just before the attack, no history as far as anyone knew, no pills on him, grand mal for sure, yes, he knew the signs, loss of consciousness, all limbs affected, yes, he fell from a seated position, to the left if that made any difference. The EMT scribbled all of it in her notepad before thanking him and climbing into the ambulance. It drove away with a peel of siren and a flash of red light.

Washington turned back to the assembled knot of people on the sidewalk and saw Alex standing there shivering, his arms wrapped around himself as he watched the ambulance leave. 

"Alex?" he asked gently. When that didn't get his attention, he tried, "Mr. Hamilton?"

"What? Oh." Alex's eyes darted up to him. "Right. Uh, if it's all the same to everyone," he said in a louder voice, addressing the class, "let's call it a night. We'll pick this up on Wednesday. Just...get home safe." 

The other students murmured their assent and headed back inside to collect their things, leaving Alex and Washington alone on the sidewalk. 

"He'll be fine," Washington repeated. "It looks worse than it is." 

Alex nodded wordlessly, his hands now rubbing up and down his arms while he shivered. Washington took a step closer and unzipped his soft black hoodie. 

"Here, you're freezing." He draped it over Alex's thin shoulders, and as if on autopilot, Alex's arms found their way into the sleeves. It was too big for him; he was swimming in it.

"Thanks. I should—" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the community center. "Get my bag."

"Hey, don't forget." Washington fished around in the pocket of his sweatpants while Alex frowned at the motion. Finally, Washington produced his borrowed pen. "You're always losing these," he said, holding it out.

Alex laughed, surprised, and closed his fingers around the pen. Color came back to his cheeks. "Right. Listen, the way you took charge tonight— It was amazing." He looked up at Washington through his thick black eyelashes. "Have you thought about what you want? After you pass the test, I mean. As a job? Because I think you might be a born leader."

Washington suppressed a sigh, rubbed a hand over his head. "No, I just happen to know my way around seizures. I'm no leader." 

"The really good leaders always say that." Alex smiled, a trembling thing, and Washington wished he could kiss him again.

"Good night, Alex," he said instead. 

"Good night, Wash," Alex answered, and Washington turned to walk back home with his hands stuffed in his pockets. It was too cold to be out in just a thin tee shirt, but the idea of Alex calling him by his own nickname warmed him enough, as did the picture Alex had made standing there under the streetlight, bundled in Washington's hoodie.

___________________

On Saturday, Washington met Alex as planned in Inwood Hill to study. The park was teeming with people wanting to enjoy a sun-soaked afternoon before autumn truly turned cold. Two spur-of-the-moment games were being played on the park's baseball diamonds, and families were setting up picnic lunches on the lawn overlooking the river. Alex had selected a spot half in the shade of an oak and half in the bright sun, where he spread a green striped blanket on the grass.

"Lots to get through today so let's not fuck around," Alex said as he unloaded his books and papers from his bag. "I texted the guys; Laurens said something's holding them up, so we'll just start without them."

"Of course." Washington arranged himself on the blanket with his legs pretzeled, adjusting the crotch of his sweatpants for modesty's sake, and he glanced up just in time to see Alex looking away with pursed lips. Okay, good to know.

Washington pulled his own canvas tote closer and looked at it critically. He'd packed some simple food—peanut butter sandwiches, a bunch of grapes, some cans of Shasta—thinking they'd need to take a break at some point, and wanting to make up for Alex buying their last meal. But now it felt like perhaps eating a picnic lunch would be too...more-than-friendly. And he didn't want Alex to get the wrong idea. "I brought snacks if you're hungry," he finally said. 

Snacks weren't romantic. He knew that much.

"Oh, thanks!" Alex helped himself to the bag and pulled out a sandwich. Washington watched him bite into it with victory singing through his soul. Alex spoke while he chewed. "So let's go over some of the science stuff you missed, starting with—" He broke off at the sound of some loud shouts close by, turning to glare at the handful of young boys making the commotion a few yards away. The teenagers appeared to be harassing a couple of the park's squirrels which were frantically trying to run to the safety of their trees only to be hemmed in by the jeering boys.

"Watch this!" cried the biggest kid in the group, and picked up a rock. 

"Oh, hell no," Alex muttered as he scrambled to his feet, sandwich forgotten on the blanket. 

"Alex—?" Washington rushed to follow. 

"Hey!" Alex shouted just as the boy threw the rock with deadly aim. The squirrel dodged at the last second, causing the boys to break into peals of laughter, but Alex did not stop advancing toward them. "What the hell is wrong with you? You can't mess with animals like that." 

The boys froze and stared at Alex, but the silence only lasted a second. "Well, who the fuck are you? The fucking park ranger?" one kid asked, and the rest laughed along.

Alex lifted an accusing finger, and Washington knew that this—whatever it was—wouldn't end well. 

"Alex, listen." He put a hand to Alex's wrist to gently lower his arm. "They're just children. Let it go."

"Children?" another boy squawked. 

"You calling us children, old man?" 

"This your dad, park ranger?" 

Was there anything more anger-making than a teenage boy? Washington was pretty sure there was not, and he'd dealt with Medicare. He took a deep breath. Let go of Alex's arm. Strode forward until he was in the thick of the boys, standing right in front of the biggest one, the one who'd make the dad crack. The kid barely came up to his chest and Washington was not above looming over him for a good long moment. 

He bent to speak directly into the boy's ear. "If you are so invested in looking tough in front of your friends, consider this: I can and will pick you up, carry you kicking and screaming over to the dock, and throw you in the water while they watch."

The kid jerked back, a sound like _psssssssssh_ hissing between his teeth. "You wouldn't," he said, but it sounded like a question.

"You can test me and see. Or you can take your friends and go home." Washington straightened. "Well?" he said in a louder voice.

The teenagers left with only a low grumble of insults and one hock of spit that landed too far to the right of Washington's sneaker to worry about. He turned and saw Alex watching open-mouthed. 

"Wash, what did you say to him?"

Washington shrugged. "Nothing, really. I'm just good with kids," he said. "Come on, let's eat those sandwiches before they get soggy." 

The day progressed nicely from there, and Alex's friends never did show. By the time the two of them were done eating and reviewing basic science concepts the weather had warmed up enough that they tugged their blanket further into the shade of the tree. Washington winced as he picked up their heavy pile of books to move them too, and it didn't escape Alex's notice. 

"You okay?" he asked.

"It's my hands. They get really sore from work. Heavy lifting, mixing, that sort of thing." Washington flexed his fingers as he returned to his seat on the blanket, but the ache didn't dissipate. It traveled up through his wrists and forearms like fire. He'd have to try an epsom salt soak tonight, if he had any salts left. 

"Hey, I bussed tables at a diner for six months in college. I remember how much it hurt." Alex reached out and took one of Washington's hands in both of his. "Here, I'm really good at—" His thumbs dug into the sore joints in a gentle massage, and Washington bit back a gasp.

"Oh." Alex looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Washington. "Sorry. I shouldn't." 

"No, it's fine." Washington cleared his throat. "Feels good." His hand looked so big in Alex's palms, so scarred and torn. Small cuts from his work in the bakery were scattered across his knuckles, and his fingers were thick with calluses. Compared to Alex's elegant hands, they looked like a dirt farmer's. "But if you'd rather not—" he said in a low voice.

Alex held his hand in complete stillness for a long moment before resuming the massage. His eyes darted away toward the river as he worked. "Can't expect you to expend energy on studying when you're dealing with aches and pains. That's like, classic Maslow's hierarchy. Which could show up on your test, by the way. Have I gone through that pyramid with you?"

"No," Washington said softly. 

"Well, I think it's an outdated concept. Like, you've got your basic needs at the bottom, those come first: food, water, air. And without those things, you aren't supposed to go to the next level, which is shelter and safety. But if that were true, hungry people wouldn't be able to accomplish anything, which, I can tell you from personal experience—" 

Washington listened to Alex chatter away and let him massage first his left hand, then his right. It was nice, having another person touch him. Another small luxury he hadn't realized he'd missed.

"I should get my hoodie back from you sometime," he said idly. It would be getting cold again tomorrow, the weather channel had said so.

"Hmm?" Alex seemed too caught up in working out some tension in Washington's wrist to listen.

"The hoodie I gave you on Monday?" Washington said. "Don't you still have it?"

"Hoodie? Yeah, I guess I'll have to look for it," Alex murmured. "My place is such a mess…."

His fingers slowed, then stopped their careful massage. They sat there in the quiet, Washington's hand in Alex's lap, while Alex stared down at it. Washington curled his fingers around Alex's, threading them together. He could hear the hitch in Alex's breath. 

Washington shifted on the blanket. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Alex sighed. "I mean, more like— Too comfortable." Those dark eyes flashed up at him. "Listen, I have a very bad track record with self-restraint and I'm trying really hard to get better."

Washington released his hands. "Then I won't— I just won't," he said.

"Thank you. For understanding." Alex packed up his supplies and picnic blanket in a rush, babbling continuously about the busy week ahead, and their next study session, and the ways his friends would quiz Washington on what they'd covered so far, and the weather, and a million other things that Washington didn't listen to.

He watched Alex leave the park with a parting wave. Alex went east. He went south.


	4. Chapter 4

Monday night rolled around and Washington felt nothing but dread for his next class. It wasn't that Alex had rejected him—though that didn't exactly feel good—it was that he knew Alex was right. He didn't have time for some stupid fling; he was supposed to be concentrating on his future. And right now, that future was a big question mark, so of course a guy like Alex wouldn't be interested in— In him.

Well, at least he was letting Washington down gently. 

He got to class and slid into his chair. Alex wasn't there yet, which wasn't too unusual, but as the minutes ticked by and 6:30 came and went, the other students in the room started craning their necks to look at each other questioningly. 

Just as Washington was about to take out his phone to text Alex—nothing too desperate-sounding, just a quick 'Is class cancelled tonight?'—the door opened and a woman swept into the room.

"Sorry for the late start," she said, setting down her haphazard stack of papers. "I'm Mrs. Schuyler and I'll be filling in for Mr. Hamilton tonight." She frowned at a scrap of paper in her hand. "Do you usually do a sign in sheet?" 

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The young woman in the Church's Chicken uniform raised her hand. "Where's Alex? Is everything okay?" 

Washington could have kissed her. He was so glad he wasn't the only one with that question in mind. 

Mrs. Schuyler blew some loose strands of hair out of her eyes and said, "I'm afraid I don't have any details. All I know is that he called in sick. Unfortunately, that means you get me. Full disclosure: I'm not certified for this, I'm just the community center president. And I'm going off some very—" She frowned at the paper again. "—confusing instructions that Mr. Hamilton left with the front desk. I think we're going to do some math? All right, get out your calculators."

Washington wasn't listening. Not that he'd brought a calculator anyway. He was out of his chair and out the door before he knew what he was doing.

He walked to Alex's apartment at a brisk pace, if for no other reason than he was still in nothing more than a tee shirt and sweats. This could go one of two ways, he decided. Either Alex had called in sick to avoid him or he was actually sick. In both cases, Washington figured they should talk. If Alex didn't want to see him at all, fine, but tell a man to his face, was Washington's feeling. He could make other arrangements, although this was the only free night class in the neighborhood. He'd make do somehow. 

And if Alex had fallen ill? Well, Washington didn't want to think about what it meant to be rushing to his side. 

He pressed the buzzer next to Hamilton's name and waited for a response. Eons seemed to pass before the intercom crackled to life. 

"Hello?" it said. Or maybe, "Hngggh?" It was hard to tell.

"It's Washington," he said into the intercom. "From class?" 

Very smooth, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes.

Another long beat of silence. Washington pressed the buzzer again. The speaker crackled. "Alex, please let me up."

An interminable wait. And then the door buzzed open. Washington pushed his way through as quick as he could.

When he reached the fifth floor, he saw the door to 5F was cracked open. His heart nearly stopped. "Alex?" he called, stepping over the threshold.

The telltale sound of vomiting echoed from the bathroom. Washington sagged against the kitchen counter in relief. This he could handle. Alex beaten and robbed on his apartment floor, not so much.

He tapped his knuckles on the bathroom door. "Can I come in?"

A loud, guttural groan was his answer. 

"Okay, taking that as a yes," he said, and opened the door slowly. 

Alex was kneeling on the tile floor, his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl, his head hanging down. His hair was a mess, loose around his face like a curtain. He moaned in pain.

"Subbed at an elementary school today," he said in a hoarse voice. "Stomach bug. Going around."

"Hm. Come on, I've got you." Washington picked up a plain black hair tie from the bathroom counter and bent to gather Alex's hair in a sloppy ponytail. Alex whimpered as he worked. "Sorry, this isn't exactly one of my talents. But you want your hair out of the way, right?" 

"Oh god, is there puke in my—?" And before he could finish the question, another wave of nausea seemed to pass through him, and Alex rose up on his knees to heave into the toilet again. 

Washington rubbed his back. "I'll get you some water," he said, and left Alex to his purging.

When there was nothing left to throw up, when there was no more bile, when the dry heaves had run their course, Alex sat back against the bathroom wall in a sweaty, panting heap. Washington handed down the glass of water, which he drank in small sips. 

"Sorry you had to see that. And hear it. Ugh, and smell it," Alex said with a grimace. "So gross."

"I've seen worse. Don't worry." He reached over and flushed the toilet. "Want to stay there for awhile? Or would you rather get in bed?"

"Bed," Alex groaned. "I feel like I've been beaten up by a sewer monster."

Washington helped Alex to his feet and guided him through the minefield of clutter to his bedroom. It was surprisingly peaceful in there, not as messy, just a platform bed set low to the floor and a few stuffed but orderly bookcases. He levered Alex toward the mattress, glancing over at him to gauge his face for pain, then did a double take.

"Are you wearing my hoodie?" he asked. 

Alex plucked at the oversized black sweatshirt material that covered his chest. He was dressed in that and flannel pajama pants, feet bare. "Uh, maybe?"

"No, you definitely are," Washington said. 

"Sorry. I'll wash it before—" 

"It's okay. You can keep it if you want." Washington guided him under the blankets and fluffed his pillow before he put his head down. He hoped his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. Alex wearing his clothes—wanting to wear his clothes—made him hot all over. 

Alex blew out a frustrated breath. "I promise I didn't get anything on it." 

"That's not why— Alex, just keep it," he said quietly, and pulled the sheets up to Alex's chin. 

"Fine. If you insist." Alex managed a watery smile. He looked so pale, and his eyes had such dark circles around them. Washington found he didn't care, he loved him anyway. 

He froze at the thought. Shit. Shit!

You can't love him, he told himself. It's too soon! He doesn't even—! What is wrong with you? 

Alex, completely unaware of Washington's internal battle, snuggled down into his bed and closed his eyes with a sigh. "God, what time is it? Was I puking for your entire class period or did Eliza let you all go early?" 

"It's not that late," Washington hedged. "Do you think you could eat something? I can make soup."

Alex cracked open one eye and peered up at him. "After today I may never eat again."

"Some ginger ale, then? Gatorade? You should stay hydrated." 

"All right, all right, I'll drink some fluids." That single eye closed again. "Just so you know, taking care of me isn't going to earn you an A in my class."

"Alex, you don't assign grades in that class."

"Yeah, good point. So why are you here playing nursemaid?" Alex mumbled. "Nothing better to do?"

"Just helping out a friend," Washington said stiffly. "That's all."

"Right," Alex said. He sounded half-asleep already. "Friends. That's what we are."

Washington cleared his throat. "Rest for a little while. I'll bring you something to drink."

He ducked into the kitchen and leaned his forehead against the slick, cool door of the fridge for a long moment, his eyes squeezed shut.

This wasn't love. This was just an old habit, taking care of someone. Feeling needed. That was all. He had to be careful. He had to keep himself in line. 

He opened the fridge and began his search for something that wasn't beer. A lone can of Sprite, which was kind of like ginger ale, sat in the very back. Washington took that and a bendy straw he found in a drawer stuffed with packets of soy sauce and plastic forks. He thought to pour the soda in a glass with ice but all of Alex's ice cube trays were empty.

He filled them with water and set them carefully in the freezer. Would Alex mind if he tidied up a little? He hoped not. 

Washington found a small wastebasket next to the kitchen table that was overflowing with papers. He emptied that into the larger kitchen trash can then lined it with a Duane Reade shopping bag that was stuck under the coffee table in the sitting room. 

Steeling himself, he returned to the bedroom, put the soda on the nightstand and the wastebasket by the bed. "Alex," he whispered, "are you sleeping?"

"'m awake," Alex said, and he was only half right. He tossed his head on his pillow. "My hair, can you take it down?"

"You sure?" Washington's hand was already stealing closer, the traitor. "You might throw up again later." 

"No, not possible. And I can't sleep with it up," Alex whined. 

Washington gently lifted Alex's head and worked his hair tie free. "And you couldn't do this yourself because…?"

"I'm cozy. Trapped under cozy blankets. Be nice to me."

"I'm trying," Washington said with a suppressed smile. "You are not a very good patient, are you?" His fingers untangled a knot in a strand of Alex's hair and then, just to be sure, ran through the dark locks a few more times, fanning them across the pillow.

"Who the hell is?" Alex sighed. "Jesus, that's nice. Screw an office job, you should just play with people's hair all day. You'd be rich."

Control, Washington told himself. Be careful. 

He drew his hand back, heart breaking as Alex tipped his head as if trying to follow it, to feel more of his touch. "You should sleep," he said. "And I should—" 

"Just stay." Alex yawned and closed his eyes. "It's late. It's cold. It's a long walk back to your place." 

Washington felt his jaw tick. Damn Alex's logic, he was trying to be good about this. 

"Fine," Washington said. He was so goddamn _weak_ for this man. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"All—" Another yawn. "—right." Alex smacked his lips. 

"Don't forget your drink," Washington said. 

"I won't. Just resting my eyes." Alex pressed his cheek into his pillow. "Hey Wash? Thanks." 

Washington wisely said nothing else, just left quietly, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him.

He moved around the apartment, putting things to rights, making neat stacks of the piled books and papers. There were a few granola bar wrappers caught in the couch cushions, so he threw those away then took out the trash, dumping it down the chute in the hall. He did the dishes that were sitting in the sink. He opened the window and shook out the throw rug in the cold dark night. And when he was done, he picked up Alex's iPhone where it had been left on the kitchen counter and looked for a place to charge it. 

Uptown Funk blasted tinnily from the phone, and Washington startled. The screen showed him a photo of John Laurens sticking out his tongue. The song would wake Alex, he worried, and so he answered the call. 

"It's Washington," he said in lieu of a hello. "Alex isn't feeling well, he's asleep." 

"Oh good, you're there," Laurens said. "Figured I might get you on the line. My girl Eliza told me Alex didn't show up tonight. You cut class, huh?" 

"Only because—"

"Relax, I'm glad you did. Alex is useless when he's sick. Is he bossing you around yet?" 

Washington glanced at the bedroom door. "A little." 

John laughed. "How did Saturday go? You guys have a nice time?"

This phone call was getting very strange, Washington decided. "It was fine. Hope whatever kept you and the others wasn't too inconvenient." 

"Oh my god, you don't get it, do you?" John said. "We ditched on purpose, Wash. I wanted to give you and Alex some time alone." A beat. "He could use someone like you."

Washington clutched the phone tighter against his ear. "Alex would disagree," he said. "Thank you for the support, but I assure you it's misguided." 

"Why? What did that little shit say?"

Washington sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was forming behind his eyes. "I'd rather not gossip if it's all right with you. Alex isn't interested. End of story." 

Laurens made a knowing sound. "Or very interested but acting like a big ol' martyr about it. Am I right?" Washington didn't dignify that with a response. John just clucked his tongue. "Yeah, I'm right. Listen, word of advice: there are four knobs in Alex's shower, okay?"

"O...kay," Washington said slowly.

"This is important. That shower is a complicated fucking adventure. So. Four knobs. The top two are for the shower head, bottom two are for the tub. Hot water is on the right, cold on the left. Like, the opposite of how it should be." 

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because if Alex is sick, he'll want to take a shower as soon as he can get out of bed. And you'll need to run the water for him until it's, like, scalding. As soon as you hear him moving around, start it up so it'll be hot enough for him when he's ready. Trust me, he'll adopt ten babies with you if you manage to get this right." 

"I don't want ten babies," Washington said in alarm. 

"Noted. But I think you want Alex to be happy, which means I'm on your team, big guy." He sobered quickly, his voice suddenly serious. "Just don't fucking hurt my friend, all right?" 

"I don't plan to," Washington said. It occurred to him that John had been pulling for him this whole time, and that the peck on the cheek he'd given Alex hadn't been possessive at all. It had been important information, that Alex dated men. John was his man on the inside. "Has Alex said anything to you? About me?" he asked. "It's just, things are a little confusing."

"Well, look who wants to gossip now! Sorry, Wash. I've got to let Alex tell you himself. Just give him some time. He'll get his head out of his ass once he gets over the embarrassment." 

"Embarrassment? Over what?" 

"It's getting late, I'll let you go. Remember, top right knob! Good night! Good luck!"

Washington stared at the phone in his hand. What the hell is even happening, he wondered. Then he took his own cell phone from his pocket and quickly added John's number to his contacts. Might come in handy, he figured.

It was still early despite John's protests, not even 10 o'clock, but Washington found himself bone weary anyway. He tossed Alex's phone on the kitchen table and headed for the sofa, his bed for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

Washington had long ago developed a talent for sleeping on any available surface (a side effect of constant nights in hospital waiting rooms) and Alex's couch wasn't the worst by a long shot. The trick was to lay on his back and let his feet dangle off the far armrest. All around him were the sounds of an unfamiliar apartment: the elevator humming out in the hall, the yap of a dog outside on the street, the clank of the radiator heating up. If he listened very closely, Washington could even hear Alex's breathing from the bedroom. 

He felt like an interloper. A thief in the den. This was Alex's world, Alex's comfortable, messy apartment. It was lightyears away from Washington's life: the mattress on the floor for want of a bedframe, the clothes stacked in the corner for want of a dresser, the cheap groceries for want of more money. Too much want and not enough relief. He stared up at the ceiling and listened to Alex snuffle in his sleep. Don't let yourself get too comfortable, he told himself.

But the sofa cushions smelled of Alex, like warm skin and cedar, and it was so hard not to indulge in the smallest dreams. If he and Alex could be more than friends, he thought with traitorous need, he could stretch out on this couch in the middle of a weekend afternoon and fall asleep for an hour or so, only to be awakened by Alex shaking him by the shoulder, asking him what he wanted for dinner. The thought was as scandalous to him as the most sexual imaginings, to contemplate a life where someone--where _Alex_ \--might take care of him once in awhile. Wouldn't it be nice, Washington thought as his eyes drifted closed, to not have to fight every battle alone? 

He let his mind wander just a little. Alex would order delivery for them, pick a DVD from his collection to watch afterward, and they could curl up on the couch together and— 

Washington reached his hand down to the front of his sweatpants, where his hard cock was making itself known. He ground his palm against its outline punishingly; pathetic, to get so turned on by his little domestic fantasy. His teeth clenched, an ache in his jaw. He couldn't afford to get carried away like this. He held his dick, a heavy, warm weight against the softness of his sweatpants, and he fell asleep in the middle of a mental lecture to it on why it couldn't act this way.

Washington woke up to a pitch dark room, heart thudding for a minute before he remembered where he was. The digital clock on the microwave across the apartment told him it was very early. Alex's bedsprings were creaking in the other room; he was getting up. Washington levered himself off the sofa and stumbled to the bathroom, where he put John's advice into practice. While the shower spray heated up, he emptied his bladder, borrowed a swig of mouthwash, and stared at himself in the fogging mirror as he washed his hands. 

Just play it by ear, he thought. 

A knock reverberated off the door. "Wash, are you taking a shower?" Alex called. 

Washington tested the shower spray with his hand. Boiling hot. He opened the bathroom door. "No," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. "You are."

He tugged Alex inside, checked to make sure there was a towel on the hook by the door, and left Alex standing there on the bathmat open-mouthed. The door shut between them with a soft snick.

Though his back ached from it, Washington returned to his spot on the couch, curling up on his side. He could sleep a little longer before he had to go to work. Just a few more minutes. 

Washington must have drifted off because the next thing he knew, a hand was on his shoulder and he was looking up at Alex's flushed face, wreathed in wet hair. His damp eyelashes looked so long in the weak light. A soft vision.

"Morning," Alex said. 

"Hey." Washington stretched until his joints popped. "How do you feel?"

"Better. Still pretty wiped, though. I think I'll call in sick today." His eyes, so large and dark, stared down at Washington. "Don't want to pass around whatever I have. Hope you didn't catch it. You're not feeling gross, are you?" 

Washington blinked. He wasn't much of a morning person. Words were hard before nine. "I feel all right," he said.

"Oh. Okay. Because if you did feel sick…." Alex fiddled with his hoodie strings. He was still wearing that thing? "You should take the day off. If you feel something coming on." 

Washington opened his mouth to explain to Alex that he didn't have paid sick leave, that he was being paid under the table and wasn't covered by the city's employment laws, that missing a day's work meant ninety fewer dollars in his pocket come Friday. 

"You could hang here with me," Alex interrupted before he could speak. "You know. If you felt sick." He tucked his wet hair behind his ear.

Washington looked up at him for a long moment. Then picked his flip phone from the floor where he'd placed it before falling asleep the night before. "You're right. Shouldn't risk it. I'll text my manager, tell him I can't make it in today." 

Alex nodded as he watched him tap out the message. "Better safe than sorry."

"Of course." Washington pressed send and tossed his phone back on the carpet. A day off. Another luxury Alex was reintroducing to his life. 

"Glad you agree. Now scoot." Alex shoved at Washington's shoulder. 

"What do you mean, scoot?" Washington rolled back on his side facing away toward the back of the sofa. His nose brushed against a cushion. "Alex—" 

"Shhhh. We'll fit." Alex slid behind him on the sofa, spooning up close and tucking his arm over Washington's waist. Washington could feel Alex's nose pressing between his shoulder blades. Parts of him were still warm and damp from his shower, but his bare feet were chilled, and they tangled with Washington's socked toes in a search for heat. He smelled like Irish Spring soap.

"Is this okay?" Alex murmured into his back. 

Washington lay rigid and breathless in Alex's loose hold, then forced himself to relax. He sank into the cushions. His hand rested over Alex's where it palmed his stomach. 

"I'm okay if you're okay," he said. 

"Then we're all okay." Alex tucked his face even closer against Washington's tee shirt and sighed. "You know, I half expected to wake up this morning and find you in bed with me." 

"You think I'd just invite myself in like that?" Washington asked. Somehow, not looking at Alex's face while they spoke felt safer. Like they could be truthful. 

Alex shrugged, his arm rising and falling around Washington. "It's a big bed. Maybe a little wishful thinking. Look, I know I've been sort of giving you some mixed signals…" 

"Understatement," Washington said in a level tone. 

"But," Alex pressed on, "there's a lot of moving parts here. I mean, variables. Not just the student-teacher thing, which is weird but I did my homework; we're adults, it's not technically against the rules. But I don't want to jump without looking like I usually—" 

"Is it because I'm older?" Washington asked. As soon as he said it, he knew he didn't want to know the answer. 

"What? No. Wait, how old—? Wash, I don't care about that. Do you?"

"No," he lied. "So what's the problem?"

Alex was quiet for once, his face smushed into Washington's back. "I don't want to mess this up," he said at last, "and I know I'm going to." 

Washington closed his eyes. He was so tired, and Alex felt so good behind him. He squeezed the hand beneath his. "Well, you're not the only one who thinks that about himself," he murmured. "Just sleep for now, Alex." 

"Okay." Alex pressed closer. His hand strayed up from Washington's stomach to his chest, then back again as if mapping new terrain. "Thanks for letting me be the big spoon." 

"You're very good at it." 

"I'd like to think so." 

They fell back to sleep like that, crammed together on Alex's narrow sofa.

___________________

Their sick day passed by in a sleepy haze of naps, snacks, and Netflix. It was like a dream for Washington, and he soaked in every moment of it, constantly glancing over at Alex to assure himself that it was real. Alex, who was still wearing his borrowed hoodie while eating handfuls of water crackers, finally noticed.

"What?" Alex asked, crumbs flying. 

"Nothing." Washington turned back to the Ken Burns documentary that Alex had picked. So educational. "Just thinking."

Alex swallowed and said, "Hey, do you have plans this weekend?" 

Washington had to fight to keep the smile from his face. A real date at last. "Wide open. Why?"

"I think we should visit your test site." Alex chugged his glass of ice water (ice, what a concept) then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your test date is coming up in a few weeks and I don't want you to feel nervous or lost."

"Ah." Hard not to sound a little deflated. "Right. That makes sense."

"I can drive you down to City College," Alex offered. "Show you how to get to the right building, walk you to the testing room. Saturday good for you?"

Which is how Washington found himself on Saturday morning very much _not_ on a date with Alex, but sitting in the passenger seat of his crappy Toyota while they drove down Broadway to the college. For the first time in awhile, Washington started feeling nervous about his HSE test. He'd been studying hard, sure, but he'd missed a couple of Alex's classes and still had a lot of cramming to do. The pressure was like an iron weight in his stomach. If he failed one more time, he was stuck with his shitty double jobs for another year. An incomprehensible torture. 

"Here we go," Alex said with chipper glee as he pulled into a parking lot on the outskirts of campus. "Okay, that's the building right there." He pointed to the massive gabled cathedral-like structure that was surrounded by more modern blocks of concrete and glass. 

Washington frowned at it. "They could have picked one that looked a little less intimidating," he said.

"But they didn't. It's you against them, remember? Come on." Alex killed the engine and they slid out of the car. 

The walk through campus was surprisingly pleasant. Alex seemed to know his way around, taking sharp turns around corners and beckoning Washington to keep up. They crossed green quads and walked down quiet, arbored walkways until they reached the building Alex had pointed out. The plaque beside the front door read Shepard Hall. 

Inside the hall was cool and dark, solid flagstones ringing with the footsteps of dozens of students and professors. Washington followed Alex through the alcoved labyrinth of hallways until they came to a simple, unmarked door in a row of identical doors. 

"In two and a half weeks, you'll be killing that test in this room." Alex nodded at the door. "You'll remember how to get here?"

Washington nodded. He excelled at keeping maps in his head. "This was a good idea, thanks."

"Hamilton? Is that you?" a bell-like voice rang out in the hall, and Washington turned to find a trim, well-dressed man approaching them, elegant hand outstretched. "My god, so it is. I haven't seen you in an age."

"Burr," Alex said tightly and took the proffered handshake. "What are you doing outside of Baskerville Hall?"

"They moved my classes here last semester. But you, Alex! Where have you been keeping yourself?" the man asked. Then, leaning conspiratorially close, whispered very loudly, "Don't tell me Eliza is still harboring you in that charity of hers." 

Alex licked his lips and gestured to Washington instead of answering the question. "Burr, this is Washington. Wash, this is Aaron Burr. We're...old friends."

"Former colleagues," Burr said, turning to shake Washington's hand as well. "It's such a shame. Some days I actually miss hearing Alex's hourlong tirades being shouted through these halls." He laughed and gazed up at the high ceiling above them as if it, too, was in on the joke.

Washington quirked a brow in Alex's direction. "You used to work here?" For some reason, Alex's face had gone bright red and his jaw was tight.

"Actually—" he began. 

"Oh, hasn't Alex mentioned the circumstances of his departure from the shores of academia? It was really something. One for the history books." Burr's smile froze into something that didn't look very happy at all, and he looked closer at Washington. "I'm sorry, who did you say you were?"

"Washington," he said. "I'm one of Alex's—" He gestured vaguely, suddenly unsure about the word _students_.

Burr swung his gaze back to Alex, for all intents and purposes treating Washington as invisible. "So you _are_ still doing good works. I admire you, Hamilton. You've turned a humbling experience into a force for positive change. Adult education is a higher calling." He held his fists tight before him as if trying to grab an imaginary rope that would lead him to such a thing. 

"Right. Well. Good seeing you, Burr." Alex neatly avoided the man's gaze and reached forward to take Washington by the elbow. "We should be going."

"Don't be a stranger!" Burr called after them as they hurried away down the hall. "Shoot Theo a text; we'd love to have you over for dinner one of these days. Just like old times!"

"What the hell was that about?" Washington whispered as soon as they'd turned the corner. 

Alex shook his head. "Nothing. Let's just go. You hungry? I'm starving. We should get Thai."

"Hey." Washington reversed Alex's hold on his arm, grasping his wrist instead, and pulled him into one of the alcoves in the great, echoing hall. Classes must have resumed; there wasn't another soul in sight. Alex stood before him against the alcove wall, hunched into smallness and staring at the floor. Washington swallowed. "If you don't want to talk about it—" 

"I don't," Alex shot back.

Washington straightened. "Fine," he said. And waited. Very silently. 

Alex chewed on his lip, then groaned. "I used to be an adjunct professor here, okay? I taught economics. It was my dream job. Everything I'd worked for in school, and I just—" He broke off and stared at the carved marble wall next to them.

"Just what?" Washington asked.

"I hated it," Alex mumbled. "Not the actual teaching, that was great. But the politics and the glad-handing. The backstabbing. I was not so good at that. And sometimes I'd get a little worked up and," he shrugged, "fly off the handle." 

"And you...quit?" Washington guessed. 

Alex inhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, and stuffed his hands in his khakis' pockets. "Not quite. I, uh, got into it with a rival professor, guy named Jefferson, been teaching here for decades. We were between classes, arguing about his ridiculous laissez faire theories and things got a bit heated." 

"What happened?"

Alex winced. "I may have punched him. It's a blur."

Washington's eyes widened. "You punched a tenured professor?" 

"...Yes." He dragged a hand through his hair. "Summarily fired, I think the phrase goes. Adjuncts can't go around assaulting their departmental superiors. As Burr would say, 'This isn't the wild wild west, Alex,'" he said, imitating the man's silky voice. He grimaced, picked at his fingernails. "Anyway, that's how I ended up working two dead-end jobs to make ends meet. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before but I— I couldn't—" He watched Alex's face crumple in pain. 

"Oh my god," Washington murmured. "You were worried I'd think less of you because of this?"

"Well?" Alex looked up at him, eyes wet with tears he wouldn't allow to fall. "Don't you?"

"Jesus, Alex." Washington folded his arms around him, leaning him back into the curve of the alcove. Alex buried his nose in his chest. "So your life isn't going the way you planned. Join the club. I'm not going to hold that against you."

"But you got sidetracked by something that was out of your control," Alex protested into his tee shirt. "It's not your fault that your brother got sick, or that the healthcare system is fucking broken, or that your mom took off. You were doing the right thing! But with me, I fucked up. Me. And I have only myself to blame." 

Washington considered this, pressing a kiss to the top of Alex's head as he thought. "At least you're owning up to it," he said. "Is this what you were talking about when you said you were working on your self-restraint?" 

"Yeah. All those steps of anger management." Alex gazed up at him, his eyelashes thick with tears. "Look, I'd understand if after this you didn't want to—"

"Can I take you out next weekend?" Washington asked. 

Alex blinked. "What?"

"Let me take you out. On a date. A real one, out in public." Washington nodded to himself, belatedly approving of his own plan. "That's what I'd like. Would you like that?" 

"Uh, yeah, I mean—" Alex leaned back, putting a little space between them. "Wait, no. You should really focus on your test prep first. I don't want to screw this up for you." 

"By next weekend, I'll be able to take whatever practice test you put in front of me," Washington promised. "I'll ace all five topics if you need proof that I'm ready." 

"Ace them, huh?" Alex looked intrigued despite himself. "Not just pass? We're talking flying colors?"

Victory surged into Washington's heart. He knew Alex wouldn't be able to say no to a challenge like this. "Absolutely. If I score high marks on my next full practice exam, you'll let me take you out on a date. Do we have a deal?"

"Oh, you're on." Alex wiped at his flushed face. "Come on, we should probably go before they tow my car." 

As they hustled back to the parking lot, Washington surreptitiously took out his cell phone and texted the newest number in his phone. _Laurens, I need a favor…._


	6. Chapter 6

The coffee shop was an independent operation, not a chain, as Laurens refused to meet at the Starbucks on the corner. "Trust me," he said, "the vibe will be better at this place." 

Washington didn't much care about the vibe, best summed up as comfortable gentrification. He didn't even plan on buying coffee. He just needed to cram as much as he could in the days leading up to his possible date with Alex, and he needed a place to do it. John had agreed to help, and he brought along Mulligan and Lafayette, who seemed more interested in hashing out the details of his budding romance with Alex than the intricacies of statistics or American history. 

"But where will you go with him?" Lafayette asked as he returned to their table with a comically oversized cup of cappuccino and some kind of pastry on a plate. "Dinner? A film?"

"Probably not," Washington said, staring at a math problem involving three kinds of rectangles. "I was thinking of something a little less....traditional." By which he meant, a little less expensive. He'd calculated the costs, and counting the subway fare both ways, he could get away with spending less than twenty bucks if he bought Alex a decent slice of pizza followed by some stand-up comedy. It wasn't fancy, but neither was he.

"You know, I have a friend who produces Broadway shows," Laurens said. He sipped at his matcha. "Want me to score you some tickets?" 

"Thanks, but I'd like to do this on my own," Washington said. If Alex wanted to be with him, that meant all of him. Including the budget. It would be foolish to try to dazzle him with things Washington couldn't possibly provide long-term. 

John didn't seem offended, just shrugged. "At least let Hercules lend you some outerwear. How are you still walking around in your shirtsleeves? It's freezing outside." 

Mulligan didn't look up from his phone. "Peacoat. Black. High collar. Classic look, my guy. Wear that with a V-neck? Alex'll be eating out of your goddamn hand." 

Washington eyed him closely. "You're just going to give me a jacket?"

"Call it a loan. Unless you look really good in it, in which case, sure, it's yours." Mulligan finally looked up, nodded at his math answer and made an OK sign with his thumb and forefinger. "I design menswear, you know. That's why I'm so fucking good at geometry." 

Washington blinked. He'd known on some level that Alex's friends had jobs outside of helping him study, but it hadn't occurred to him that they were—it was difficult to put into words—real adults? "I would appreciate that." He tipped his head in thanks. "It is getting cold." 

Lafayette hummed and began cutting his pastry into small squares with the table knife. "Now we must get on with our work, yes? Dear Washington, you answer correctly each question and I give you a bite of my gallette." 

An eyebrow raised. "You're motivating me with food? Like a dog performing tricks?"

"Ah, yes, but first taste this." Lafayette held a square of the pastry to Washington's mouth and popped it between his lips before Washington could protest. 

He chewed. It tasted of spices and pear. His eyes closed unbidden. "My god, that is good." 

"The dog is not so offended now!" Lafayette laughed. "Come, tell me about your Civil War." He tapped the social studies workbook in the middle of the table.

Every night that week that Washington didn't have classes, he was in the coffee shop with Alex's friends, whom he supposed were now his friends as well. They quizzed him and coached him, fed him cakes and muffins, and led him through practice after practice until he was a test-taking machine. On Saturday morning, they gathered again with the understanding that Alex would join them this time so that Washington could show him what he'd learned. Mulligan brought the promised coat.

"All right, you're fucking keeping this," he said as he adjusted the collar. "Now listen to me. Look into my eyes." He made a V with his fingers and pointed at his own face. "Dark sweater. Those tight jeans you were rocking the other day. You can't lose."

"Thanks, Mulligan." He turned to John and Lafayette, who were splitting a piece of savory cornbread. "And thank you, all of you. I don't know what I would have done—"

"Failed miserably," John suggested.

"Died alone," Lafayette sighed.

Washington frowned. "Okay. Well, like I said. Thanks."

The bell above the coffee shop door jingled, and Washington looked up to find Alex coming inside with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes lit up when he saw them in the corner. 

"Gentlemen." Washington took a seat at the table and picked up his pen. "I have a sample test to take."

___________________

Better than flying colors, Alex had declared. Downright miraculous. "What did you do, make some kind of training montage happen with the guys? Can you chop a wooden board in half too? Teach me your ways," he said, waving the graded test in the air.

Washington hid a smile in his cup of coffee that Alex had bought him as a reward. "The boys were a big help. We all worked very hard." 

Alex conceded that he had lost the bet with easy grace. They arranged to meet for their date that evening, and Washington dressed with care according to Mulligan's advice. His good pair of boxer briefs were called into service yet again. Alex met him at the subway station wearing the same rumpled button-down he'd had on that morning at the coffee shop, but he complimented Washington's attire with a shy smile. "You clean up nice," he said.

Washington fought the urge to smile too widely. A date with Alex: it was exactly what he'd wanted for weeks. Nothing could bring him down now.

Then they went to the stand-up show. And it was horrible. 

Entry into the basement theatre was free with a two-drink minimum, consisting of an overpriced and watery beer poured into clear plastic cups. The place reeked of mildew and spilled drinks, and the seats were nothing more than wobbly rows of mismatched chairs. The only saving grace, in Washington's opinion, was that everything was dark and close, and he could feel Alex's thigh pressed up against his own as the show progressed. 

"Does this feel racist to you?" Alex whispered in Washington's ear as they sat rigidly in their seats. So far every comedian had been pretty abysmal. The guy currently on stage, though, was the worst of the lot. The crowd wasn't applauding so much as shifting uncomfortably with every punchline.

"Not your kind of jokes?" the guy was jeering at the front row. A woman there flinched away from him. "Come on, you can laugh. Deep down, you know I'm right."

"It's hard to tell," Washington whispered back. The whole set was pretty incoherent, after all.

"I mean, you'd think between the two of us, we'd know if something were racist," Alex said. A beat. "Yeah, I think it's racist." 

Oh god, now the comedian was doing an accent. "Do you want to go?" Washington asked.

"Hell yes," Alex hissed, and they shuffled out of their seats and back onto the street. The performer saw their exit and shouted something at them, but Washington didn't listen, just guided Alex outside with a hand to the small of his back. The sun had already gone down and the sidewalk was bathed in streetlights. Washington turned up the collar on his new coat. 

"Sorry that was so bad. I didn't think—" he began, but Alex waved him off.

"I've got an idea," he said. "Let's head back uptown."

Washington brightened. Uptown was good; uptown was home. "Sure," he said, and they walked back to the crowded and smelly subway. The A train was so packed, they couldn't even stand next to each other, shunted as they were into different sides of the car. Every so often, Washington would search out Alex over the heads of the other passengers, and Alex would catch his eye, give him a sheepish shrug.

The train finally lurched into their station, and Alex led them to the elevator that would take them up to Fort Tryon. 

"I think you'll like this," Alex said. He tangled his fingers with Washington's and guided him into the park, which was dark and empty at this late hour, lit only by old-fashioned lampposts every dozen yards. They skirted some sweet-smelling flower beds, startling a few squirrels before stepping onto the promenade that overlooked the Hudson. They stood there side by side in the brisk wind and took in the view. The bridge to Jersey was all lit up with its white dots of light. It reminded Washington of Christmas.

"This is really nice," he breathed. 

"Yeah." Alex leaned against him. "Not half bad."

Washington took the opportunity to put his arm around Alex. He was cold, and Washington rubbed his palm up and down his bicep. "How come you never think to bring a jacket?"

Alex laughed. "I swear it's not on purpose. I just forget." 

Washington was already draping his new peacoat over Alex's shoulders. "Please don't steal this one. I'll need it back."

"I can return the hoodie if you want." Alex looked away again, staring out over the river. Even in the dark, Washington could detect the flush on his cheeks. "It doesn't smell like you anymore anyway." 

"Alex." He drew him into his arms. Their eyes met. "If you like my smell that much—"

Alex rose up on his toes, his lips parted, his eyes fastened to Washington's own mouth. 

The kiss was tentative, testing. Alex's lips were as warm as he remembered, but before he could deepen the kiss, Washington felt the strange sensation of being watched. His eyes snapped open and he saw, just over Alex's shoulder, a man leaning against the nearest lamppost watching them. 

He broke off the kiss. "Looks like we have an audience."

Alex looked back at the shadowed figure too. "Okay. Weird."

"Maybe we should go," Washington said, tugging him down the path that led further into the park. He kept an eye on the man, but the figure didn't move to follow them. 

Alex didn't seem too worried and chattered away as they walked. "Hey, did you know there used to be an actual fort here? A couple, actually. One here, one on the other ridge to the east. They were used back in the Revolution to store artillery and supplies, but the British took them over when—" 

Washington stopped short, and Alex stopped talking. Ahead of them at the next lamppost was another man. Just standing there. Watching them.

"This is getting freaky," Alex whispered. "You didn't plan this, did you? One of those first dates where you get to save me and be the hero?"

"I did not plan this," Washington said. He took Alex by the hand and led him quickly past the man, making sure to place himself between the two. Like the last interloper, this man said and did nothing.

"Let's just get out of here and go— Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!" Alex tipped his chin at the next pool of light in front of them. Yet another man stood there, eyes darting away from them as they approached. "What the hell is going on?"

Washington eyed the man closely. He was dressed in a fairly nondescript manner, save for his jeans, which seemed to have some damp stains on the front. Oh, he realized. Oh, wonderful.

"Alex," he said as they walked more quickly, "I think you've brought me to a cruising spot."

"What? A cruising—? No!" Alex whipped his head back around to stare at the man they'd just passed. "You mean all these guys are looking to bang? _Here_?" He sputtered before finally biting out, "But it's so chilly!" 

"That's your problem with the situation?" Washington hissed. "The temperature?"

"I don't know! I've never—! Oh my god!" Alex sprang backwards, narrowly avoiding a used condom that lay wetly on the pavement, illuminated by a streetlight.

"See?" Washington pointed at it. "Cruising."

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Alex groaned, releasing Washington's hand so he could cover his face. "This is the worst date in the history of dates. I can't imagine something less romantic than this."

"Hey, it's not that bad." Washington clasped his hands to Alex's arms, drawing him into his embrace while Alex ducked his head low. He groped for something positive to say while tugging his coat tighter around Alex's slight shoulders. "It could be worse." He wondered if Alex had even enjoyed the kiss, which, to him, had been a real highlight.

"I almost had a stranger's jizz on my shoe, Wash!" Alex cried. 

"But you don't," Washington said. He summoned the confidence to kiss him on the forehead, where the skin was hot with frustration. "And for the record, I'd face the jizz of ten strangers if it meant spending the evening with you." 

"That," Alex said slowly, "is the grossest thing anyone's ever said to me." He grinned. "But it's also strangely sweet."

Washington smiled back, daring this time to show teeth. "I'm sorry I took you to a racist stand-up show," he said. 

"I'm sorry I brought you to a creepy park-after-dark thing." Alex cocked his head. "What do you say to speed-walking out of here and escorting me home?"

"It would be my pleasure," Washington said. He folded Alex's hand in his and led him toward the park gate.

"You know what? For our next date, I should just cook you dinner at my place," Alex said as they walked. 

"Alex, there's nothing in your place but beer and hot sauce. I've checked." 

"I can go to the store. Just make me a list. And do all the cooking. I'll handle dishes." 

"So egalitarian." 

"Mmm, is that one of your vocabulary words? You know I can't resist those." Alex grinned up at him, his eyelashes impossibly long and fluttering.

"I know." Washington squeezed his hand, grinning to himself. Another date. Alex wanted another date, even after everything that had happened.

They passed by a final cruiser with barely a second glance and left the park behind. The walk up Broadway was pleasant; dozens of bars and restaurants were in full Saturday night swing, little jewels of light with music and laughter pouring from their front doors. Washington thought that maybe someday, when money wasn't such an issue, he'd like to take Alex to one of them. 

"Well, this is me," Alex said when they reached his building. "But you, uh, know that." He stood on the first step of his stoop, making him closer in height to Washington. Their eyes were level for once. Alex raised an eyebrow and shrugged out of his borrowed peacoat. Washington accepted it with a little mocking bow, slipping it on again.

"Thank you for...an interesting night," Washington said with a small smile.

Alex nodded. "Very interesting. So, do I get a goodnight kiss?"

The smile grew. Washington leaned forward, his arms going around Alex's waist. "That's an excellent idea," he said. This kiss picked up where the last had ended, soft and exploratory before turning into something deeper. Alex tilted his head and Washington felt his tongue, a slick, hot thing, slip into his mouth. They shared a groan. He could feel Alex's hands cupping the back of his head to hold him in place. As if he'd want to leave.

When they finally broke apart to breathe, Alex whispered against his cheek, "Goodnight, Wash."

"Goodnight, Alex." He held onto Alex's hips as long as he could, his hands slipping free as Alex walked backwards up his building's stairs. 

"Get home safe," Alex told him with a smirk. "Lots of weirdos out tonight."

Washington wanted to say so many things that wouldn't be appropriate, so instead he just said, "I will." He stood on the sidewalk and waited until Alex keyed open his building door, then waved goodbye as he disappeared into the lobby.


	7. Chapter 7

The day of Washington's test came, and he did not feel nervous. He didn't feel much of anything. He took an early morning subway ride to City College. Found the room Alex had shown him weeks before. Sat in a too-small desk for hours. Answered all the questions as best he could. Some were easy, some were impossible, most fell somewhere in the middle.

When he was done, he walked out into the blindingly bright sunlight and found a text from Alex waiting for him on his phone. 

_I know you're going to do great. I'll call you tonight when I'm off work._

Washington closed his phone and decided to save himself the subway fare by walking home. He'd taken the whole day off work, so it wasn't as if he had anywhere to be. Now that he was done with the test, all he had to do was wait six to eight weeks for the test scores to be posted. Six to eight weeks before finding out whether his life was going to change. 

Waiting sucked.

Days passed. He went through the motions at his two jobs, but his mind was somewhere else, worrying about either outcome. He'd need to start applying for other jobs; he'd need to figure out what other jobs he might _want_ ; he'd need to go on interviews. Wear a tie. Write a resumé. Get his life together, get his own place, start saving for...something else. But then again, the test results might come back with bad news and if that was the case— His mind went in constant circles. 

He lost his appetite. Started feeling sick to his stomach at the smell of food, which was unfortunate since he worked in a bakery nine hours a day, five days a week. 

Alex helped when he could. He invited him over, put on Netflix cartoons, lay with his head in Washington's lap and nudged him until he played with his hair. They ate Dominican takeout when Washington felt up for it. On the weekends, Alex would bring Washington to hang out at John's place and listen to records, or Lafayette's Brooklyn loft to drink wine. Mulligan organized a photoshoot one Sunday, and Alex brought Washington to watch the models stalking up and down the pedestrian islands in front of the Flatiron in oversized sweaters. 

"It's important to stay active," Alex kept saying. "Takes your mind off things."

They kissed, sometimes, on Alex's narrow couch. Or—more chastely—while waiting together on a subway platform. Every so often a hand would roam under a shirt, up along a spine, mouths gasping apart. But that was all. Alex seemed to sense that Washington was too on edge to fully experience those moments. It was ludicrous, given how long he'd waited already, but Washington wanted to know where he stood before taking things further with Alex. If it turned out he'd failed his test— He tried not to dwell on it but it was hard not to. 

"I'm sorry," he said to Alex more than once as they curled together on the couch.

Alex would just shake his head. "I'm the one who wanted to take it slow to begin with." His hand was warm on the back of Washington's neck, just stroking. "It's all right. The way things are now— I feel so close to you."

Washington never knew what to say to that, so he would close his eyes and tuck Alex's head under the point of his chin.

In the middle of Week Five of six to eight, Washington found himself clocking out of the bakery with the unmistakeable specter of doubt looming unseen over him. He was convinced, irrationally, that he was going to get his scores back soon and he would be a failure. Again. He remembered how it felt the first two times he'd flunked that test, and then he remembered that this time, he actually had someone to disappoint. 

He could barely breathe. 

He sat down heavily on the curb just outside the bakery. Everything inside his skin felt like it was made of dust, like he would be blown away by a stiff wind. The air was heavy with the thick scent of impending rain. His hands shook as he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. 

He texted Alex. _What if I fail?_

The response came within a minute: _Don't think like that. You're going to be fine._

_And if I'm not?_

Washington stared at the phone's screen, willing it to light up again. Ridiculous, he chided himself. He couldn't keep leaning on Alex like this. He was his own man, he needed to handle this like an adult. He was going to push Alex away if he wasn't careful. His lungs filled over and over again, taking deep breaths until the shaking in his hands subsided.

_I'm sorry_ , he started typing. Never mind, he was going to say. You're right, he was going to say. This isn't on you, he was going to say.

Alex's text came in first: _Absolute worst case scenario? You try again later. It won't change anything. I'll still <3 you._

Washington stared at his phone. Tilted his head a little to read the last sentence again.

_OH MY GOD_ , another text pinged. _I'm sorry I said that for the first time with an emoticon. That's fucked up._

Washington had never held in his hands proof that someone loved him. 

Something strengthened in his chest, an iron calm that spread out into his limbs. Alex loved him. Rain started falling, steady and cold, and Washington put his phone away so it wouldn't get soaked. Alex loved him. His feet ached from standing all day, and his back hurt from all the heavy lifting, but he stood up and started walking in the direction of Alex's apartment. Alex loved him. He walked faster until he broke into a run. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket with unanswered texts; he didn't have time to stop and check them. Finally his phone rang as he was waiting for a light to change. He ducked under a bodega's awning to answer it.

"Alex," he said, "I'm coming over."

"What? Okay. Are you mad? I shouldn't have said—"

"I love you too."

"Oh!" Alex's voice was startled. "Hey, good. That's good."

Washington hesitated. "Did you mean it when you—?"

"Yeah, of course! I love you. Seriously." 

"Good." Washington blinked some raindrops from his eyes. "So I'm coming over?"

"It's pouring out. Do you have an umbrella?" 

He looked down at himself. His work clothes were already soaked through. "I'm fine," he said. He grabbed a paper circular from a wire rack outside the bodega and held it above his head to protect his phone, then plunged back into the rain. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Should I, uh, get ready for you?" Something in Alex's voice made Washington's stomach curl pleasantly. 

"Yeah," he breathed. "Get ready for me."

"Just to be clear, pants off?" Alex asked. "That's what we're talking about?"

"Alex—" 

"Because that's fine. That's really fine. Pants are coming off." Washington listened to the rustle on the other end of the line. 

He muffled a curse. "Christ, Alex."

More rustling, the sound of a drawer banging open then closed. "How far away are you again?" he asked. Washington could picture him with his iPhone held by his shoulder against his ear. 

He checked the street sign as he jogged by. "Nine blocks."

"Okay, plenty of time to get a little prep out of the way." Alex's sigh came across the line like velvet. Washington clenched his teeth and jogged faster. 

"You going to keep talking to me while you do it?" he asked, jumping back from a car that had nearly turned into him at the crosswalk. 

"If you want." A little gasp. Almost delicate. "Fuck, I wish you were here."

"I'm on my way, baby. Take it slow."

"Baby?" Alex laughed. 

"No good?" Washington asked. He looked both ways before crossing the intersection this time. 

"No, I like it. Baby. Yeah, why not?" A sudden groan. "Wash, hurry." 

"I am. Just a few more minutes," he said into the phone. He picked up the pace.

"And then you'll give it to me?" Alex gasped out. "You'll finally let me have that big dick of yours? I can feel it in your pants when we're on the couch— God, Wash, just slip it in me when you get here, I'm so ready for it."

Jesus, Alex was going to get him hard talking like that. He hoped his loose sweatpants hid it well enough; luckily the rain had made the sidewalks fairly empty. "I'll give it to you," he promised. "Whatever you need. Alex—" 

"Please, I can't wait."

"I'm on your street," Washington said as he turned the corner. His Nikes were pounding the wet pavement as he ran. "I'm almost there. Almost." The circular in his hand was now a soggy mess, and he tossed it onto a pile of trash bags at the curb. "Buzz me in, baby."

The line went dead just as Washington shouldered his way into the foyer and pressed Alex's button. The answering buzz was immediate. He didn't even wait for the elevator, just took the stairs.

Alex answered his door wearing Washington's hoodie and nothing else.

"You absolute asshole," Washington said with a spreading grin. "You know what this does to me, don't you?"

"I might." Alex tugged at the hem of the hoodie, which fell to mid-thigh on him, nearly hiding the bulge of his cock under the soft black fabric. He seemed pleased with himself until he looked up at Washington, his eyes widening. "Holy shit, you're soaked to the bone! You're going to get sick if—" 

Washington cut him off with a bruising kiss that pushed him back into the apartment. He kicked the door closed behind them without breaking away. Alex didn't fight it, just brought his arms to twine around Washington's neck and let himself be guided backward against the wall.

"Bedroom?" Alex asked between nipping kisses at Washington's lips. 

"No. Right here." He bit at Alex's collarbone where it peeked out from the zippered V.

"Fuck, okay, right here." Alex threw his head back to give him more skin.

Washington's hands stole up under the hoodie Alex wore, one big palm cupping his ass and hoisting him up a few inches. He could feel the cool wetness of lube there already. "Jesus, you really did get ready for me," he breathed. He slipped one finger inside Alex, nice and easy. 

"You going to turn me around?" Alex panted. "Fuck me from behind?"

He shook his head. Brought up his free hand to scramble at the zipper of Alex's hoodie. "Want to look at you," he said quietly. "Let me look at you."

Alex helped in slipping the borrowed hoodie off his shoulders and down his arms. It finally puddled on the floor at their feet. Alex stood naked against the wall, his cock bobbing wet and red against his stomach. Washington crooked his finger inside him, and Alex went up on the tips of his toes. 

"Hold on, let's get you out of these," he said, batting away Washington's searching hand for the moment and shoving at his wet coat. Washington allowed himself to be divested of that and his damp shirt, but impatience brought him back to Alex and his warm lips. 

"You said— You promised—" Alex whispered into his mouth after being thoroughly kissed. He lifted his left leg and hooked it around Washington's waist. "Come on, please."

"I know, I know." Washington slipped his finger back into Alex, giving him a few breaths to adjust before adding another. 

"I told you, I'm ready," Alex groaned. 

"I'll be the judge of that." Control. Control was important, especially when he felt like he was losing it. 

Alex dropped his hand into the space between them, molding his palm to Washington's cock where it hung trapped in his pants down his right thigh. "Need you. Please—give me what I need." 

He couldn't deny Alex when he said things like that. One last twist of his fingers before he removed them from that painfully tight heat, and then they were both grappling with the knotted string at his waistband. 

"I have condoms in the bedroom," Alex said. 

"I have one in my wallet." Courtesy of the freebie bowl at the community center's front desk. Washington was suddenly very glad he'd pocketed one months ago on a whim.

"Oh, thank god. Hurry, come on." 

There was some fumbling as they arranged themselves: shoes and socks kicked off, wallet found, sweatpants shucked, condom rolled down Washington's cock. Alex retrieved a small bottle of lube from the pocket of the hoodie that lay crumpled on the floor, slicked him up. His hands and eyes lingered. 

"Christ, you're big," he whispered. His licked his lips in an absent-minded swipe. "Can I—?"

"I've got you." Washington resumed their earlier position, Alex with his back against the wall, a leg slung around his waist. His cock fit itself between his spread cheeks. "Just sink onto it, baby. Let gravity do the work." 

Alex did as he was told, not that he had much choice. The leverage was on Washington's side as he held Alex by his hips. The entire slow slide downward, Alex's eyes grew and grew. He tried to turn his head, to look away, but Washington coaxed him back with a kiss. He held his gaze as he thrust into him, pressing him against the wall. 

A steady stream of _oh my god_ s poured from Alex's lips. He clutched at Washington's bare, damp shoulders and rocked on the toes of his one foot that remained on the ground. "More," he said. 

Washington shifted his hold from Alex's hips to his ass, one cheek in each of his palms, and lifted him higher. Alex yelped as his foot left the ground, both legs hooked around Washington's waist.

Alex surrounded him now: the smell of his fresh sweat and warm skin, the beat of his hard cock caught between them, his lips against Washington's ear whispering fiercely, "Fuck me, fuck me through this wall."

The _noises_ Alex made when he moved into him, when he gave him what he wanted. Half-laughs choked into low moans. Desperate nails digging into the back of his neck. Washington focused on that, on everything about the man in his arms, because otherwise he knew he'd break apart.

He spread his fingers wider along Alex's ass to give him more support, and his fingertips brushed the place where they were joined together. A ragged groan tore free from Alex's throat, and he tossed his head back to crack it—hard—against the wall. The photographs that hung a few feet away rattled in their frames. 

"Careful, baby, careful." Washington took Alex's full weight with his right hand and lifted his left to gently cup the back of his head, resting like a cushion between Alex and the wall. 

"It's fine, I'm okay," Alex gasped, "just don't stop, don't ever—" 

There was no thought between need and action: Alex needed more, so he would do what he had to do. Washington held him tight in his arms, girded himself, and stepped back, taking Alex with him. Without the support of the wall, he was the only thing keeping Alex aloft. Alex met his gaze with eyes as wide as plates, shocked and delighted. 

"Shit, don't drop me!" 

"I won't," Washington promised. His cock fucked up into Alex even deeper. His muscles strained and burned, but he barely noticed. Alex was smaller than he was, yes, but he was still a sizable weight in Washington's arms. His thighs flexed as he experimentally bent his knees just a little and then straightened. Alex bounced up and down on his dick with the motion. 

"Fuck!" Alex buried his hot face against Washington's neck. "God, you're strong. I'm just along for the ride, just hanging on, getting fucked so good. Keep doing that, I love it." 

"Figures you're a talker." Washington smiled into Alex's hair and pounded up into him over and over as fast as he dared. 

"You like it," Alex murmured in his ear. "I can tell. Your dick twitches in me every time I speak." 

He wasn't wrong. Washington's knees were starting to shake with the effort of staying upright; pleasure was flooding into him, overtaking his concentration. He growled. "I need to take you to bed."

"No, don't stop yet, I— Ah!" Alex held onto him tighter as he started walking them to the bedroom, his cock jolting inside Alex with every step. Sharp ankles dug into the small of Washington's back. 

"Just a little further." He smoothed down the messy hair at the back of Alex's head, a soothing gesture as he felt him shaking against him.

They fell onto the mattress with a soft bounce, Alex still impaled and moaning below him. Washington raised himself on his arms and stared down at the picture he made, all flushed with his dark hair clinging to his wet lips. 

"Good?" he asked, resuming his rolling thrusts. 

"Too good," Alex said, his eyes blinking and rolling. "W-wash, I'm going to—" 

Washington closed his hand around Alex's neglected, leaking cock and pumped it in time to his hips. "Go ahead," he gasped into a kiss. 

He swallowed Alex's scream and felt the hot come coating his fingers. He was so tight, so perfect, arching beneath Washington with no words left, only sounds— 

He came in him, his hand still milking fat drops onto Alex's heaving stomach. A kiss, deep and thankful. Another, apologetic as he pulled out of Alex, who whined at the loss. He palmed off the full condom and tossed it toward the wastebasket.

"Here, let me take care of you," he murmured. Alex was like a ragdoll underneath him, all loose-limbed and half-shut eyes, grunting assent and trying to catch his breath. Washington moved them more solidly onto the bed—they'd landed there so haphazardly to begin with—and pulled the comforter over their bare bodies. Alex curled close. His parted lips rested on Washington's throat. For a long moment, they just breathed.

"Stay tonight," Alex finally said. His voice was already thick with sleep. "I'll make you breakfast in the morning. I think I have eggs in the fridge."

"You don't need to bribe me with eggs." Washington dropped a kiss in his hair. "I'll stay."

"Good. Because I don't know how to make eggs," Alex mumbled, and then snored softly into Washington's neck.


	8. Chapter 8

Washington stood on the peak of the rocky outcropping and looked out over the Hudson. The scent of pine permeated the soft breeze. It was a postcard-perfect summer day with sailboats dotting the water below Inwood Hill. He was slick with sweat from his afternoon run, but despite that and the ache in his left knee, he felt good. It was hard to believe that less than a year ago he'd been too overworked and exhausted to even find the time for a view like this one. 

"Sweet Lips," he called into the brush. "Come here, Sweetie, time to head home." 

The raggedy mixed breed bounded out of the thick bushes to snuffle at Washington's hand. He gave her thick brown fur a good petting before clipping her leash back in place. "Good girl," he murmured. Lafayette once again received his silent thanks for bringing the stray into their lives; he and Alex had fallen for her the moment Lafayette had introduced them, sneezing into the crook of his elbow while saying, "My friends, please tell me your building allows the pets."

Master and dog jogged down the hill together toward Alex's—no, their place. It was still difficult for Washington to think of the apartment that way; he'd only officially moved in a few weeks ago, and only then with some fierce prodding from Alex.

"It just makes sense," Alex had said. "You're over here all the time anyway. You're the one who knows how the stove works—"

"I would have to pull my own weight," Washington had insisted. "I'd have to pay my share." Alex had balked at the thought of splitting the mortgage payments. 

"I can handle those on my own. I've _been_ handling those! It's a matter of pride, I get it, but it doesn't make sense for you to struggle when you don't have to." They'd gone back and forth on the issue for weeks before Alex played dirty by saying, "Please, I just want you here with me. Whatever it takes for you to want that too, let's do it." 

Washington loved him so much in that moment. Almost as much as the moment he received his test scores in his e-mail inbox, and they sat side by side on the sofa while Washington opened the message so they could read it together, and Alex wrapped him up in a hug that stole the air from his lungs while shouting, "That's my Wash, fuck, I'm so proud of you!" 

Now their things mingled in the apartment; their clothes tangled together in the laundry, a puzzle to solve on lazy Sunday afternoons when the machines in the basement were finally free. Alex stole Washington's shirts, his pajamas, anything he could get his hands on. And Washington let him.

A calendar reminder pinged on Washington's new phone, and he slipped it out of the pocket of his basketball shorts to check it. Ah, he had to go over the next quarter's budget with Eliza tomorrow. He made a mental note to gather his papers tonight. He was still relatively new in his position of manager at the community center, but after Mrs. Ross' retirement, John had urged him to apply. "It's good experience, if not the best pay," Laurens had said, not realizing, perhaps, that it was still twice as much as Washington had made before. 

He led Sweet Lips out of the park and back home, idly wondering what he should cook for dinner. The zucchini in the fridge was going to shrivel if he didn't use it up. Did they have cheese left over from their last grocery run? These were the problems that nagged at his mind now, not the thought of forgoing dinner entirely.

Sweetie wriggled her way through the front door the moment Washington keyed it open, and it was only after he locked up behind himself that he realized Alex was home. His messenger bag was on the floor by the umbrella stand. 

"Baby, you're back?" he called as he padded into the kitchen. He found Alex there leaning against the counter with a cold bottle of beer in one hand, scratching Sweet Lips behind her ear with the other. His tie was pulled down, top two buttons undone. "How'd it go?" Washington asked. He took the beer from Alex's fingers and had a sip before replacing it.

"They made me an offer," Alex said, still staring down at their dog. 

"Okay." Washington waited a beat but Alex didn't elaborate. "Was it a bad offer?"

Alex pressed the bottle to his forehead and closed his eyes. Cold perspiration dripped down his face. "It was very old school," he said. "They wrote a number on a piece of paper and slid it across the table. Like a movie." 

"That's the private sector for you." Washington crossed his arms over his sweaty chest. Alex had been going on job interviews for months with nothing but support from Washington's corner, and it hadn't been easy. A few roadblocks had popped up—Jefferson apparently had friends in high places—and it had taken awhile for Alex to find people in the industry who hated his old rival as much as he had. But even given all those setbacks, this was the strangest he'd ever acted throughout the whole ordeal. "So what was the number?"

Alex fished a scrap of paper from the pocket of his suit and handed it over. Washington unfolded the page and glanced at the writing there. His eyebrows shot up. "Alex—"

"It's so much fucking money," Alex whispered. His dark eyes were huge in his face. "I can't stop thinking it has to be a trick. Right? I mean, no one's going to pay me that kind of salary, are they?" 

Washington tilted his head and held up the paper. "This would say otherwise."

Alex groaned and put his beer down. "I know, it's real, oh my god." 

Tread carefully, Washington told himself. "Are you having second thoughts?" he asked. "Because if you want to pursue teaching instead— Alex, I want you to be happy. If this job isn't right, don't take it."

"No, I'm taking it!" Alex reached out and looped his arms around Washington's neck. "I want this, I do. It's just— Will you be all right with it? Me making so much?" 

"Oh baby." Washington swept a lock of hair from Alex's face. "This doesn't change a thing. I'll still love you." 

Alex buried his face in Washington's damp tank top. "Even if I'm a capitalist sell-out?"

He rubbed Alex's back. "Even then," he promised. 

A few deep inhales, then Alex straightened with sudden vigor. "We've got to do that program you keep talking about. The one with the kids. If I'm going to have all that money, we need to do the right thing." 

Washington blinked. He'd been working on a proposal for an outreach program at the center to support children who'd lost their parents, but it had been floundering in funding hell for months. "Alex, you don't need to—" 

"Yes I do. It's important." He stood breathless and rumpled in front of Washington, his dark eyes pleading. "Please let me do this."

"All right," Washington found himself saying. "We'll do it."

"And I'll take you to Saratoga," Alex plunged ahead. "A long weekend, just the two of us. Or Paris!" His mouth dropped open. "I could take you to Paris!" 

Washington smiled fondly. "I've never been to Paris." Or any of Europe, actually. 

"Fuck, we could be the kind of people who go to Paris." Alex frowned. "Do we want to be the kind of people who go to Paris?" 

Washington dropped a kiss on his warm mouth. "We don't have to decide right now." 

Alex tugged at his tank top. "Could we still be the kind of people who make out on the couch?"

He pretended to think about it. "I don't know. I'm all sweaty from my run. Maybe we're too fancy for nasty makeout sessions. We might need to move to the Upper East Side, get one of those deep jacuzzi tubs. Sleep in separate rooms." 

Alex gasped. "Don't talk like that!" He clutched at Washington's shoulders in mock distress, and Sweet Lips started barking at their knees. 

Washington chuckled. "You're getting her worked up." Then, petting his long hair, "So you're really going to fund my program?"

"Why not?" Alex grinned up at him. "It's only money." He started walking backwards, dragging Washington with him toward the sofa. "Now, about that makeout—?"

"It would be my pleasure," Washington said. He hoisted Alex up into his arms, coaxing his legs around his waist, and carried him into the next room while Alex crowed his approval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story exists because of the excellence and depravity of [Ji](http://crying-of-lot-37.tumblr.com/), [Poose](http://pitcherplant.tumblr.com/), and [Iniquitcity](http://iniquiticity.tumblr.com/). They are the best. xoxoxo
> 
> Y'all are pretty great too! Thank you for being so kind and leaving me such lovely comments and messages and such. I hope you had fun.
> 
> More ficlets & discussion of this verse can be found [here](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/tagged/uptown-education).

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're enjoying this! Tags and warnings will change with updates, so watch out for that I guess. Comments are great, all love is appreciated. I'm here on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/).


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